THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


or 


GAY  WATERS 


INCLUDING  THE  WICOTA. 


All  Rights  Rtswed. 


STANDARD  PUBLISHING  CO.   PRINT 
CINCINNATI,  O 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1887,  by 

GAY  WATERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 
All  rights  reserved. 


WICOTA. 


TO 

RED  CLOUD,  SPOTTED  TAIL  AND  SITTING  BULL, 

CHIEFS   OF  THE   2O,OOO   SIOUX. 


994323 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


"  Among  the  Sioux  Indians  there  are  societies,  religious  in  char 
acter,  which  are  distinguished  by  some  animal." — Fletcher's  Indian 
Ceremonies. 

Of  the  convert's  initiation  into  the  mysteries,  the  same  author 
itates  that  after  the  convert  has  had  a  vision  of  an  elk,  a  hawk,  or  a 
bear,  "and  after  he  has  spoken  to  the  old  man  belonging  to  the  proper 
society,  it  becomes  the  duty  of  the  youth  to  travel  until  he  shall  meet 
the  animal  he  saw  in  his  vision,  when  he  shall  slay  it  and  preserve 
either  the  whole  or  a  portion.  This  trophy  becomes  the  visible  sign  of 
his  vision,  and  is  the  most  sacred  thing  he  can  possess." 

Should  the  author's  deep  attachment  to  a  number  of  less  modern 
poets  have  resulted  in  an  occasional  similarity  of  expression,  he  is  of 
the  opinion  that  the  more  limited  reader  will  not  be  led  to  the  danger  of 
showing  his  ignorance  by  push  ng  any  unintentional  similarity  to  the  ab 
surd  charge  of  "  hooking  from  some  other  literary  feller."  The  Wicota, 
the  longest  production  of  this  volume,  was  written  to  rescue  from  ob 
livion  one  of  the  most  original  and  picturesque  ceremonies  of  the  war 
like  Sioux;  and  that  students  of  American  archaeology  and  ethnology, 
and  the  American  literati  in  general,  might  be  awakened  to  a  more 
tender  appreciation  of  the  magnificent  historic  back-ground  of  poetic 
and  mystic  lore  within  such  easy  reach.  The  author  wishes  to  acknowl 
edge  his  indebtedness  to  the  trustees  and  the  curator  of  Peabody 
Museum  of  American  Archaeology  and  Ethnology,  for  Miss  Alice  C. 
Fletcher's  reports  concerning  the  ceremonies  of  the  Omahas,  Unapapa, 
Ogallala  and  Santee  Sioux. 


CONTENTS. 

Wicota I 

The  Surprise    27 

Henry  Ward  Beecher 29 

The  Pilot's  Song 30 

Immortality 32 

The  Anarchists'   Hyain 33 

The  Muses'  Offering , 35 

Summer 38 

Do  n't  Say 40 

The  Widow's  Farm 41 

Jane 50 

A  Christmas  Marriage 54 

The  White  Buffalo 57 

The  Lone  Tree  of  Banner  Hill 59 

The  Unfortunate ' 61 

Christmas 65 

The  Churchyard  Chant 67 

The  Dying  Poet 71 

A  Barnyard  Fable 75 

To  Love  is  not  all 80 

The  Elder's  Welcome 81 

1887  and  1888 83 

A  Post  Office  Visitor 85 

The  Voice  of  the  Grave 88 

Thomas  Carlyle 89 

Life 91 

De  Ol'  Virginny  Tiuics 92 

Robert  Burns , 95 

Severed . . , 96 

.  Depths 98 

An  Eight  Line  Novelette 99 

Garfield 100 

Ethnology 101 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  Indian  Crisis 102 

A  Blind  Man's  Triumph 103 

The  Dawes  Sioux  Severally  Bill 106 

Dr.  T.  A.  Bland 108 

Indians  in  Irons 109 

Great  Chief  Red  Cloud's  Letter ill 

The  Sioux  Severalty  Bill 114 

Reply  to  Red  Cloud 1 16 

Aimee n8 

Sioux  War  Song 1 20 

Sioux  Melodies 121 

The  Dawes  Sioux  Bill 128 

Poor,  yet  Rich 13* 

The  Sioux  Child  Funeral 132 

Taku  Wakan  Wokanze 134 

Cheyenne  School  Days 135 

Two  Centuries  of  Woe I36 

Life  of  Red  Cloud 139 

Dr.  Sunderland's  Strictures 145 

Col.  Harkins  on  Dawe.s  Bill 151 


WICOTA; 

OR,   THE    GREAT    ELK    (SIOUX)  MYSTERY. 


In  token  of  humility, 

With  moistened  clay,  u-p-bci  his 
He  sought  the  forest:  solemnly, 

To  there  perform  Jiisawfui  vp\v%^' 
To  find  some  dark,  secluded  spot, 
Where  civilization  has  forgot 
To  pry,  or  look,  or  idly  peer 
At  nature  with  a  polished  sneer ; 
Where  flits  the  grim  ghost  of  the  brave 
Where  evil  spirits  moan  and  rave, 
And  in  the  lonely,  haunted  dell 
Obtain  the  vision  of  the  spell. 

n. 

Five  days  he  prayed,  until  at  length 
His  tortured  spirit  gathered  strength 
And  in  his  slumber  and  his  dream 
He  saw  the  mighty  vision  gleam, 
And  yield  to  memory  and  fame 
A  chieftain's  pride,  a  warrior's  name  ! 

in. 

With  horns  thrown  back  upon  its  neck, 
It  flew  athwart  the  plain, — a  speck; 


WICOTA. 

Then  to  the  westward  galloped  on 

In  rhythm  to  the  prairie's  song  ; 

Then  it  came  nearer,  and  he  saw 

The  great  elk  dash  without  a  flaw 

In  its  proud  limbs,  and  fly  away !  away  : 

Two  hundred  miles  along  one  single  day 


IV. 


It  fled  from  out  a  marshy  maze, 
Where  silently  it  stpod,  and;gazed 
Around  the!  still  and, \drei~miy  .world  ; 
And  then  the  torrent  of  its  v$c6rfo  it  hurled 
Upon  the  woodland  aticl1  the  plain, 
Then  dashed  away — again  !  again  ! 

v. 

The  long  hair  on  its  neck  was  wet  with  dew 
And  arching  high  its  limbs  it  lightly  threw 
Itself  along  the  low,  brown  grasses  there, 
A  thine  of  strength,  that  would  not  brook  despair ! 

VI. 

Then  woke  Wicota  from  his  dream, 
And  down  the  yellow  marl  astream 
He  ventured  where  his  lodges  lay 
Along  the  cliffs,  at  break  of  day ; 
Near  where  Missouri's  yellow  life 
Pours  to  Nebraska's  eager  strife 
The  waters  she  has  caught  and  flung 
Along  her  banks  of  snow  and  sun. 
Where  in  the  future,  towns  shall  rise, 
And  war  shake  terror  from  her  skies ; 


WICOTA. 

And  civilization  thrive  and  dwell 
In  lands  the  savage  loved  so  well. 

VII. 

Wicota  reached  his  skin-lodge  door, 
And  sat  enchanted  on  the  floor ! 
Then  to  a  gaping,  solemn  crowd 
Spake  out  his  miracle  aloud : 

VIII. 

"Thy  vision  and  the  lovely  hand — 
The  daughter  of  this  tameless  band 
Our  own — shall  be  thy  great  reward," 
Cried  out  the  chief  of  the  boundless  sward. 
"  And  if  thou  fell  the  mystic  elk 
Or  bring  the  monarch  here  by  stealth, , 
Amid  our  councils  thou  shalt  reign, 
The  triumph  of  our  heart  and  brain  ; 
And  when  the  Pawnee  from  the  hill, 
Bloodthirsty  swoops  to  rape  and  kill 
Our  maidens  in  the  battle  hour, 
Thy  vision  then  shall  yield  its  power, 
And  by  its  magic  they  shall  fall, 
A  smitten  race — a  chaos  all !" 


"And  further,"  quothed  an  holy  man, 

"The  sacred  secrets  of  our  clan 

Shall  be  thine  own  where'er  thy  teepe 

Shall  wave  its  pennon  o'er  thy  sleep. 

The  misery  of  life  and  death — 

The  thunder  of  the  whirlwind's  breath— 

The  sun,  and  rain,  and  wind  and  cloud, 


WICOTA. 

Reveal  the  meaning  of  thy  shroud; 
The  down  beneath  the  eagle's  wing 
Unfold  to  thee  some  magic  thing ; 
The  paint  upon  the  warrior's  face 
Speak  to  thy  mind  a  clearer  trace 
Of  solemn  truths  and  God-like  powers 
That  mount  above  the  present  hours, 
And  soar  across  the  clouds  of  time, 

The  eagles  of  a  thought  sublime !  " 
i 

x. 

Just  then  a  virgin's  voice  was  heard 
In  song  to  float  amid  the  word 
That  fell  from  off  the  holy  tongue 
Of  him  who  spake  of  earth  and  sun : 
"  Green  and  her  varied  shades  possess 
The  emblems  of  thy  fruitfulness ; 
And  white — the  color  of  thy  star, 
Is  holy  as  the  spirits  are. 
Red  indicates  the  mighty  sun, 

The  yellow  is  his  beams, — 
If  blue,  the  thunder  has  begun 

To  rave  amid  its  dreams. 

XI. 

Thus  heard  the  youth,  and  the  virgin's  voice 
Determined  in  his  heart  his  choice, 
As  mounted  he  a  steed  which  stood 
Tied  to  a  tree-bough  near  the  wood, 
A  goodly  beast,  and  with  whose  limb 
The  velvet  flank  shone  soft  yet  slim ; 
A  narrow  head,  and  from  whose  foot 
A  grim  and  stern  impatience  shook, 


WICOTA. 

And  pawed  the  prairie's  loamy  crust, 

And  neighed  and  reared  amid  the  dust 

It  flung  around  its  handsome  form 

A  vessel  of  the  prairie's  storm, 

The  sharpness  of  whose  make  and  build, 

And  curve,  the  eye  of  beauty  filled. 

XII. 

A  plunge!  — a  prayer! — Wicota  fled, 
A  flash  across  the  plains  ahead  ; 
As  o'er  the  dew,  and  o'er  the  grass, 
And  o'er  the  plain  and  the  morass, 
The  virgin  watched  Wicota  fly, 
A  meteor  of  a  lower  sky ! 

XIII. 

Gone  ! — and  Wicota's  form  was  lost, 
Far  where  the  bright  White  River  tossed 
Its  waters  on  that  summer's  day, 
As  white  as  any  ocean's  spray. 

XIV. 

Within  his  heart  a  mighty  hope 
Lashed  to  and  fro  and  moaned  to  cope 
And  crush  its  future's  prison  bar 
And  disappoint  its  evil  star, 
And  by  its  innate  force  subdue 
The  destiny  it  saw  in  view. 

xv. 

A  hope  so  great  it  would  not  waive 
Its  purpose  for  a  nameless  grave ; 


WICOTA. 

Or  love  of  friends  or  curse  of  foe, 
Or  circumstance  that  ebb  and  flow 
About  one's  life  and  cruelly  boast 
To  dash  us  starless  on  a  coast 
That  lifts  no  lighthouse  in  a  sea 
Of  failure  and  of  mystery. 

XVI. 

On  westward  ! — westward  ! — farther  far 
Than  where  Dakota's  Bad  Lands  are, 
Around  the  river's  milky  stream, 
The  pride  of  Indian  ancient  dream  ; 
Where  oft  the  stately  buffalo 
Dashed  headlong  to  the  plain  below ; 
Plunged,  snorted,  leaped,  and  madly  wheeled, 
And  tramped  the  thunder  as  it  reeled 
A  shaggy  mass  upon  the  plain, 
Whose  aspect  still  defies  a  name ! 

XVII. 

The  home  of  elk,  the  haunt  of  be-**-, 
The  early  pioneer's  despair — 
Ere  civilization  has  began 
To  change  the  savage  to  a  man. 

XVIII. 

Then  the  first  wild  flash  of  Wicota's  care 

Globed  into  a  deeper  purpose  there, 

And  his  mind  returned,  in  its  brooding  o'e*i 

To  the  solemn  things  he  had  dreamed  before ; 

And  the  past,  with  its  tide  of  awful  power 

Flung  its  deeds  of  the  years  on  the  waves  of  the  hour ; 

And  the  thoughts  of  the  vision  dashed  like  spray 

In  the  caves  of  the  memory's  misty  way. 


WICOTA. 

XIX. 

He  held  his  future — as  his  rein 
Within  his  hand — to  lose  or  gain. 

Digressionary  Elks. 

Mankind  he  knew  not — save  the  brave, 
Or  Wakan-man — The  city  knave 
Who  polishes  his  vices  o'er 
Until  they  look  like  vice  no  more, 
And  drowns  his  feeble  moral  sense 
In  atheistic  competence, 
And  with  the  gambler  seeks  his  leve1 
To  vilify  the  poor  "red  devil ;  "— 
Such  characters  had  not  yet  lent 
A  glory  to  his  firmament. 

xx, 

And  Life  ? — ha  !     What  did  he  know  of  / 
He  had  not  sought  to  feel  its  bit ; 
Or  guide  the  reins  of  time  or  man 
With  sophistry  as  sophists  can. — 
Its  realm  was  peopled  like  his  dream, 
With  fairy  shapes,  that  only  seemed 
To  float  in  an  ever  golden  sky, 
Where  only  the  eagles  of  grandeur  fly, 
And  the  flowers  of  truth  and  fancy  grott 
Where  its  streams  and  valleys  trail  below  \ 
Nor  had  he  learned  from  rogues  that  man 
Must  veil  his  deeds  in  words  of  sham  ; — 
That  even  friendship  must  depend 
On  motives  of  a  deeper  end  ; — j 
That  avarice  and  passion  yield 
More  glory  on  the  battle-field 


WICOTA 

That  honor,  greatness,  or  the  praise 

That  sycophants  and  senates  raise  ; — 

That  churches  with  eternal  spires — 

In  villages — of  maids  and  sires — 

Have  leaders  which  each  other  hat^ 

With  all  the  mockery  of  fate  ; — 

That  sects — like  terriers — flash  their  teeth 

As  white  and  pitiless  beneath 

Their  lolling  creeds,  and  rend  and  tear 

Each  other's  flesh — and  aged  hair — 

Like  cannibals — that  could  devour 

A  maiden  in  an  half  an  hour ! 

XXI 

As  yet  his  fresh  young  blood  could  rush 
In  passion  to  a  crimson  blush 
Upon  his  brow  and  on  his  cheek, 
As  shrinking,  sensitive,  and  meek, 
And  modest  as  a  new-born  rose 
That  seeks  the  bosom  of  repose 
When  Evening  kisses  all  her  flowers, 
And  rocks  to  sleep  the  weeping  hours. 
The  serpent  had  not  taught  him  guile  ; 
His  passion  still  unsexed  by  style 
Knew  nothing  of  the  keener  pain 
Of  those  who  know  their  love  is  vain  ; 
Yet  in  imagination  dwell 
On  joys  the  passions  love  so  well ; 
And  hug  the  beings  of  their  dream — 
(As  mountains  clasp  a  lovely  stream) 
Within  their  arms — yet  wake  to  find 
The  fact  a  phantom  of  the  mind ! 


WICOTA. 
XXII. 

He  had  not  gleaned  the  truths  of  man 
From  other  lands — as  some  men  can  ; 
For  traveling  some  regions  o'er 
Adds  to  one's  ethnologic  store, 
(As  opportunities  occur), 
Some  startling  facts  of  character ! — 

Till  from  the  lives  of  priests  that  prayed 

And  from  the  kitchen  of  the  maid — 

— And  from  the  lawyer's  dusty  den — 
— And  from  the  merchant's  ledger  pen — 

And  from  the  doctor's  learned  talk — 

— And  from  the  politician's  stalk — 
— And  from  the  lover's  anxious  look — 
— And  from  the  author  with  his  book— 

And  from  the  voice  of  care  and  toil — 

And  from  the  ploughman  of  the  soil — 

The  thinker  can  and  does  extract 
His  characters  of  living  fact, 
And  from  the  intermingled  whole 
Learns  every  passion  of  the  soul. 
Suiting  the  scholars  in  each  class 
In  heroes,  poets  and  the  ass  ! 
Hold ! — the  benefactors  of  the  race 
Are  women  of  the  common  place, — 
The  mighty  mass  who  are  not  known, 
Yet  worthy  of  a  monarch's  throne ; 
Who  fling  across  the  marriage  die 
The  color  of  an  evening's  sky, 
As  soft  and  lucent  and  as  sweet 
As  blushes  are  when  lovers  meet ; 
And  kind,  yet  sensitive  and  "  cute  " 


IO  WICOTA. 

As  music  from  a  fairy's  lute 
And  laughing,  buoyant,  yet  as  true 
As  seraphs  who  have  God  in  view ; 
Who  shrink  from  that  which  is  impure 
More  quickly  than  the  vice  can  lure 
And  in  the  magic  of  a  blush 
Reveal  the  innocence  of  lust. 

XXIII. 

Had  Wicota  journeyed  east  and  west, 
— America  with  all  the  rest — 
And  fancied  all  were  on  a  level 
From  costermonger  to  the  devil, 
He  would  be  startled  here  to  find 
Gradations  of  the  human  kind 
As  clearly  marked  as  any  caste 
Of  Hindoo — with  a  power  to  fast ; — 
Leaving  the  mighty  city's  brawl — 
New  York,  Chicago,  or,  St.  Paul — • 
North,  east,  or  south,  no  matter  where 
So  long  as  he  could  pay  his  fare. 

A  Distinct  Species. 

Let  him  alight  in  a  smaller  town, 
And  look  a  week  or  two  around, 
And  meet  its  female  aristocrat ; 
Some  cross  between  a  sharp  and  flat- 
That  glares  adown  a  shapely  nose 
To  freeze  a  heart  already  froze  ; 
First  at  the  skating  rink  and  hall, 
Opera  house  or  fancy  ball, 
A  tee-zee,  wee-see,  go-between, 
Full  loaded,  like  a  magazine, 
With  vitriolic  airs  that  chill 


WICOTA.  I  I 

Her  lovely  husband's  suppliant  will ; — 

That  whimpers  of  her  lovely  "form," 

And  tells  the  place  where  she  was  born  ; 

Somewhere  out  east,  or  south,  or  west, 

Whatever  suits  the  wonder  best. 

Her  husband's  income?     Fifty  a  week, 

Outside  of  what  the  servants  eat, — 

This  is  not  much,  but  't  is  enough 

To  gain  the  journalistic  puff, 

And  buy  her  spring  and  winter  "  gear," 

And  add  a  polish  to  her  sneer, 

And  bid  her  saw-dust  bosom  heave 

Her  collar-bone  just  where  the  sleeve 

Is  padded  with  some  pounds  of  wadding 

To  keep  her  ancient  blood  from  clogging ; 

As  she  gesticulates  and  smiles 

In  sweet  sophisticated  wiles, 

And  stamps  her  padded  calves,  and  sighs 

Of  church  fairs,  operas,  — and  pies. 

XXIV. 

If  Eden's  Adam  was  a  roaring  Sioux, 
Perchance  his  blood  had  hardly  run  so  blue  ; 
For  blood  with  age  turns  color  like  the  light 
Seen  through  the  prism  of  the  family  sight. 
Wicota  rode  as  a  type — alone 

Of  those  a  continent  oppose 
To  occupy  a  hearth  and  home 

In  lands  their  fathers  chose, — 
Till  by  the  white  man's  heartless  art, 
Were  led  to  sign  their  nation's  part 
To  men  who  rend  away  their  graves 
To  build  the  homes  of  western  knaves  : 


W1COTA. 

Then  call  him  "savage  "  till  they  get 

The  lands  for  which  their  passions  fret, 

Then  kiss  with  Judas  lips — and  damn 

In  song  the  undeplored  red  man. 

A  red  man  with  a  stern  and  mighty  heart, 

That  never  knew  the  shivering  chill  of  art; 

With  mind  that  loves,  but  never  cowers 

Its  blighted,  undeveloped  powers, 

E'en  in  the  Sun  Dance,  when  his  flesh 

Gapes  bloody  in  the  ropen  mesh — 

As  superstition  claims  with  pride 

Endurance  as  his  lawful  bride. 

Think  ye  the  wide  soil  of  this  western  world 

Is  worth  Wicota's  soul  with  mind  unfurled 

In  thought  to  live  amid  immortal  day 

When  age  dissolves  this  continent  of  clay  ? 

Or  hurls  it  back  in  mockery  to  the  hour 

WThen  first  it  felt  the  throes  of  human  power  ? 

xxv. 

Words  snap  like  cords  beneath  the  giant  skill 
Of  Avarice  when  tortured  by  a  will  ; 
And  Mammon  sells  a  nation  with  a  pen, 
And  dips  the  pen  to  sign  the  deed  again, 
Ere  man  can  strike  one  quick,  united  blow 
To  lay  the  blood-bedabbled  monster  low  ! 

XXVI. 

Ah !     The  words  of  the  poor  are  as  weak  as  the  rain 

That  beateth  the  cheek  of  the  window  pane, 

And  they  run  down  in  tears,  and  they  run  down   ir 

blood, 
And  Pride  stamps  them  in  with  her  foot  in  the  mud 


WICOTA.  13 

XXVII. 

Great  are  the  nation's  poverties 

Whose  mighty  shapes  though  sunk  in  mysteries 

So  oft  arise  to  fill  the  world  with  awe, 

Proving  the  weakness  of  the  greater  law, — 

As  serpent  forms  (seen  from  some  vessel's  edge 

Once  in  a  century,  as  sailors  pledge) — 

Creep    slow — with    streaming    hair,    fins,    eyes    that 
know  no  sleep, 

And  horrid  head — up  silent  from  the  deep — 
Bareing  a  dead  face  on  the  dreadful  wave, 
And  moaning  pceans  of  a  madman  s  grave  ! 

Then  glide  a  mile  in  mid-air,  crushing  the  shrieking 
ship  ; 

And  sink,  a  legend  in  the  ocean's  lip. 

I  have  seen  nations  strangled  by  such  ment 

And  ere  I  die  may  see  the  like  again 


The  day  was  gone  and  the  angels  threw 

Each  waiting  flower  its  evening  dew  ; 

The  night  breeze  lifting  his  courser's  mane 

Sang  its  lullaby  again  ; 

The  tall  oaks  in  the  forest  near 

Stood  black  as  sentinels  of  fear. 

The  golden  streak  in  the  twilight  sky 

Was  pierced  by  a  star  of  silver  dye  ; 

Far  o  'er  the  mountains  in  the  west 

Float  the  dying  sound  of  the  world's  unrest ; 

From  the  nearer  valley  athwart  the  hill 

The  note  of  the  plaintive  whip-poor-will ; 

Birds  tired  of  love  and  tired  of  singing 

To  roosting-boughs  are  homeward  winging ; 


14  W I  COT  A. 

Care  sleeps  with  his  head  in  his  skinny  hand 

And  darkness  walks  on  the  sea  and  the  land. 

Then  the  round  face  of  a  pale  young  moon 

Sn^iled  into  the  night  and  into  the  gloom ; 

From  her  forehead  lucent  and  softly  fair 

A  star  had  pinned  back  her  flowing  hair, 

As  onward  through  thicket  and  shadow  bent, 

Wicota  still  westward,  westward  went — 

The  color  of  the  prairie's  sheen 

All  fading  to  a  paler  green ; 

The  foliage  of  the  forest  trees 

Dazzling  moonlight  on  their  leaves. 

Away  through  the  wastes  of  gloomy  pine, 

That  mock  the  ravages  of  time, — 

The  rustling  wolf  and  bird  of  night 

Scattering  curses  in  their  flight, 

Followed  upon  Wicota's  track, 

And  howled  a  fierce  defiance  back, — 

Yet  his  hopes  grew  stronger  and  became 

The  shadow  of  a  future  name  ; 

As  imagined  praise  rolled  o'er  his  soul 

And  exercised  its  high  control 

Over  his  thoughts  and  purposed  deeds, 

As  rivers  bend  their  tallest  reeds 

In  the  waves  that  are  rushing  in  galloping  ranks 

On  the  verdant  slopes  of  their  native  banks. 

For  an  hour  he  slept  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 

Lonely  and  sacred  and  solitary ; 

At  the  gray  dawn  he  pursued  his  way 

Solemnly  into  the  hours  of  day; — 

Into  the  deepest  solitudes 

Of  nature  in  her  wilder  moods ; — 

Scarce  a  sign  of  life  along  his  path, 


WICOTA.  15 

Save  a  rended  oak  of  the  cyclone's  wrath  , 

Which  dashed  on  its  splints  a  smitten  bird, 

Voiceless  and  dumb  as  a  silenced  word. 

The  deep  ravines  now  overhead 

Their  clasping  trees  in  branches  spread, 

And  turned  the  first  hours  of  the  light 

Into  a  synonym  of  night. 

The  mighty  forest  hemmed  him  in 

Its  silence  and  its  wondering  ; 

Till  all  was  death-like—deader  still 

Than  infamy  without  a  will — 

Or  graves  of  mortals,  gone,  condemned 

Their  immortality  to  spend  ! 

He  reached  a  rugged  mountain  side, 

A  place  so  wild  that  nature  hides 

Her  face  in  herbage  still  untramped 

By  foot  of  beast  or  sign  of  camp. 

A  wilder  place  was  never  seen 

In  any  mountainous  ravine  ; — 

For  even  silence  deeper  grew — 

And  o'er  the  loneliness  still  threw 

A  something  that  was  more  than  awe 

Or  justice  unexplained  by  law  ! 

Above,  the  mountain's  lofty  height 

Rose  through  its  canopy  of  light ; 

Then  staying  his  hand  upon  the  rein 

In  awe  he  viewed  the  scene  again — 

As  feelings  of  an  unknown  power 

And  weird  grandeur  smote  the  hour 

With  dread  of  something — vast — unknown — 

Which  all  hearts  feel  when  left  alone 

To  gaze  the  first  in  Nature's  face 

And  reverently  blush  to  trace 


1 6  WICOTA 

The  awful  lesson  she  can  teach 

With  majesty  beyond  the  reacn 

Of  hero's  skill — or  martyr's  ken. 

Or  poet's  song,  or  demon's  pen — 

He  sat  upon  his  steed  transfixed 

His  deep  thoughts  strangely  intermixed. 

His  head  dropped  to  his  heaving  chest 

Unconscious  as  a  bird's  at  rest ; 

As  something  like  a  human  sound 

Faintly,  softly,  rose  and  wound 

Through  the  stillness  of  the  glen 

And  rose  and  died  away  again  !  — 

He  started! — Now  'twas  more  distinct — 

Each  sound  stole  softly  link  by  link 

Low  and  sweet  and  moved  along 

In  clearest  melodies  of  song. 

Astonished — awed — he  listened  there 

In  mute  and  undisguised  despair  ; 

Then  peered  around  to  see  from  whence 

Came  the  sound  to  his  duller  sense, 

' '  The  oaks  are  dumb  and  never  speak 

Or  sing  a  song  so  sweetly  meek — 

And  the  storms  of  a  mountain  cannot  command 

The  notes  of  a  song  so  gently  grand." 

Thus — thus — he  mused — as  turning  round, 

He  saw  a  circular  spot  of  ground, 

With  every  vestige  of  grassy  strand 

Stripped  away  by  an  unseen  hand ; 

And  in  the  center  of  the  plot — 

A  plant — by  mystery  begot — 

Bearing  a  blue  and  simple  flower. 

The  offspring  of  a  summer  hour — 


WICOTA.  17 

Was  gracefully  swaying  to  and  fro, 
Singing  the  song  of  the  Subbea  /* 

T/te  Song  of  the  Subbea. 

"Spirits, — thou  canst  not  see  around, 

Curse  thee  with  fearful  harm, 
Yet  ere  thou  reach  yon  hunting-ground 

Their  spell  shall  lose  its  charm. 
Within  the  copse  on  yonder  hill, 

Sleeps  now  the  mystic  elk ; 
Go  ! — slay  the  monarch  and  distil 

The  spell  for  which  you  knelt. 
Yon  herd  of  mighty  buffalo 

I  gather  on  the  plain  ; — 
I  bring  the  mighty  eagle  low 

Upon  the  earth  again. 
The  demons  of  the  great  four  winds 

Encircle  earth  and  sky, 
Yet  gather  here  at  my  command 

When  I  am  passing  by. 
I  send  the  demon  of  the  storm 

To  cities  in  my  wrath  ; 
I  guide  the  lightning's  chariot  wheel 

Across  the  forest  path ; 
The  shadows  of  the  setting  sui 

Obey  me  in  their  flight ; 
I  crown  the  Queen  of  morning 

With  a  diadem  of  light. 
Though  spirit  shades  now  moan  and  rave 

Around  thy  future  still, 
My  superhuman  aid  shall  thwart 

The  anger  of  their  will." 

-The  myth  of  the  Subbea  is  of  Muscogce  Indian  origin. 


1 8  WiCOTA, 

The  voice  was  still — as  melts  a  note 

Within  a  laughing  echo's  throat ; 

The  flower  was  gone — and  in  its  place 

The  grass  waved  high,  with  not  a  trace 

Of  that  which  chained  his  heart  and  eye 

In  song  of  awe  and  mystery ! 

As  a  mortal  in  a  dream 

Oft  awakens  in  a  scream  ; 

Or  is  startled  by  a  voice 

Uttered  without  will  or  choice, 

And  recounts  his  dreaming  o'er, 

In  the  thoughts  that  went  before ; 

Rubbing  terror  from  his  eyes, 

In  a  daze  of  mute  surprise. 

Thus  Wicota  woke  at  length 

And  his  senses  gained  their  strength, 

As  he  tied  his  steed  and  crept 

Where  the  mystic  elk  now  slept, 

Lying  in  the  grasses  still, 

In  the  copse  on  yonder  hill. 

XXIX. 

The  hill  was  reached — its  copse  of  brown 

Lay  on  its  brow  a  ragged  frown, 

As  steadily  now  crawled  along 

Wicota  from  the  place  of  song. 

As  a  serpent  in  the  grass, 

Who  waits  the  kingly  lion  pass, 

Then  with  a  glide  and  sudden  spring 

Darts  the  death-bite  of  its  sting ; 

The  elk  slept  on,  nor  dreamt  there  lay 

An  enemy  so  close  at  bay. 

His  body  (in  the  curling  leaves 


WICOTA.  19 

Which  spring  had  shaken  from  the  trees) 
Stretched  with  its  great  head  to  the  wind 
To  drink  the  sounds  of  danger  in, 
Much  as  a  hoary  sailor  sleeps, 
With  one  ear  opened  to  the  deeps 
To  catch  the  warning  sounds  that  rise 
From  tropical  or  northern  skies, 
Till  in  his  dreams  he  can  detect 
The  symptoms  of  a  coming  wreck 

XXX. 

Near  the  great  elk's  sleeping  life— 

'Mid  the  foliage  flashed — a  knife  ! 

The  blade  plunged  deep  to  its  deadly  hilt ; 

The  prairie  monarch's  blood  now  spilt 

Spurts  far  from  his  neck  in  a  spouting  stream 

And  splashes  the  leaves  of  the  trees  between ; 

As  he  rolls,  and  lifts  his  despairing  eye 

To  a  mountain  sun  and  a  smiling  sky, 

And  moaning  in  prayer  quickly  reels  up  again, 

With  the  foam  on  his  lip  and  the  blood  on  the  mane, 

And  a  shrub  tangled  in,  'mid  the  curve  of  his  horn, 

And  the  knife  in  his  neck,  and  the  leaves  on  his  form, 

And  an  ebbing  pulse,  and  a  broken  rest, 

And  a  massive  trunk,  and  a  throbbing  breast, 

And  a  death  in  his  veins,  and  a  terror  that  shook, 

And  a  maddened  plunge  and  a  pitiful  look. 

Till  at  last  a  fierce  moan  and  a  snort — 

And  a  swifter  leap  like  a  lightning  fork — 

And  a  deeper  groan  and  a  wilder  plunge 

In  the  forest  air — then  a  weaker  lunge 

And  he  dropped  as  thousands  of  men  shall  fall \ 

And  without  a  name  and  without  a  pall. 


2O  WICOTA. 

XXXI. 

A  shout ! — And  young  Wicota  scalped 

The  antlers  of  the  slaughtered  elk ; 

Then  through  the  copse  a  few  rods  pushed 

To  a  low  bullberry  bush, 

And  plucked  its  sacred  *  berries  there ; 

As  intermingled  in  his  prayer 

The  Subbea's  voice,  the  elk's  death-leap, 

A  virgin's  face,  a  lovely  teepe, 

A  chieftain's  praise — a  Sioux's  deep  pride, 

An  Indian's  dream,  a  heathen's  guide. 

He  gazed  upon  the  elk's  dead  form  ; 

Its  limbs  lay  still, — its  blood  oozed  warm  ; 

Its  pitying  look  and  unclosed  eyes 

Gazed  into  Nature's  paradise — 

As  if  it  saw  athwart  the  hill 

Morn,  noon,  and  lifetime  floating  still 

Across  the  melancholy  plain — 

Like  show'ring  sunbeams  kissing  rain, 

Reflecting  in  their  shining  hues 

The  milder  mercy  men  refuse ! 

XXXII. 

The  camp  awoke — the  morn  was  bright, 
Day  had  pushed  back  the  stars  of  night, 
And  here  and  there  athwart  the  sky 
A  white  cloud  floated  silently, 
Long  ere  that  hour  Wicota  woke 
Each  member  of  the  elk-lodge  folk , 
And  told  his  ride,  and  told  his  speed, 
The  Subbea's  song,  the  sacred  deed, 

*  Sacred  to  the  Sioux  myr.teries, 


WICOTA.  2 1 


And  showed  the  anlers  he  had  brought 
From  off  the  prairie's  Juggernaut! 

XXXIII. 

Hark  to  the  women's  solemn  tramp, 
As  westward  of  the  river's  camp 
They  raise  the  elk-tent  to  the  air, 
And  leave  the  solemn  emblem  there ; 
Around  its  roof  four  blue  bands  shone 
In  circles  on  the  sacred  dome. 
Its  door  faced  eastward  to  the  sun, 
And  o'er  the  entrance  Art  had  flung 
The  blood-red  painting  of  an  elk, 
Through  whose  body  passed  and  knelt 
The  holy — to  the  awful  tent 
Which  mystery  in  mercy  bent 
Beneath  her  overhanging  skies 
To  hear  her  children's  sacrifice. 

xxxiv. 

"The  offspring  of  a  planet  doomed, 
Three  children  of  a  common  womb — 
A  trinity,  as  prayeth  some, 
Earth,  elk,  and  buffalo,  are  one. 
Red  man  !  red  man  !  whisper  low — 
Earth  !  earth  !  may  tell  the  buffalo  !" 

xxxv. 

The  chant  was  faint,  the  voiceful  swell 
Through  the  great  tent  sadly  fell — 
As  passing  in,  Wicota  knelt 
Within  the  tent-door  of  the  elk; 


22  W1COTA. 

Then  tied  upon  the  sacred  pole 
An  offering  for  a  troubled  soul. 

xxxvi. 

The  "  U-ma-ne,"  or  Symbol  of  the  Four  Winds. 
His  eye  rolled  o'er  the  solemn  spell 
Which  superstition  planned  so  well ; — 
An  oblong  space  of  mellow  earth, 
Such  as  might  have  given  birth 
To  a  score  of  garden  plants, 
Smiling  in  their  summer  ranks  ; 
On  the  earth  a  live  coal  burned, 
And  the  sweet  grass  smoldering  turned 
Whilst  beside  it,  sacred  food 
Lay  in  urns  of  sacred  wood. 
Sprays  of  artemesia  sat 
Closely  woven  in  a  mat, 
And  a  mirror,  with  a  cross 
Flashed  the  daylight  like  the  fros 
A  dish  of  holy  water  stood, 
Containing  dark  leaves  from  the  wood 
Near,  four  virgins,  clad  in  green, 
Chanting  the  ritual  of  the  scene. 

"  There  are  four  colors  to  the  sight 

Of  those  who  watch  their  vision's  flight 
The  blue  cloud  when  the  thunder  peals 
The  red  cloud  when  the  sunset  reels, 

The  yellow  cloud  of  morn, — 
^\nd  white  clouds  which  at  noon  appear, 
And  twilight  skies  are  born." 

Around  the  circle  of  the  tent 

The  members  of  the  elk-lodge  leant , 


WICOTA.  23 

With  masks  resembling  heads  of  elk, 
And  boughs  for  antlers,  whilst  for  eyes, 
Circular  mirrors  flashed  surprise. 
The  men  were  naked — save  a  breech — 
And  painted  with  a  vision  each 
Upon  the  back,  in  colors  drawn ; 
As  varied  as  a  sky  at  dawn  ; 
And  each  man  by  a  god's  decision, 
Wore  the  color  of  his  vision  ; 
And  oft  a  stillness  fell  on  all, 
As  those  who  gazed  upon  the  pall 
Of  one  they  love — but  turned  to  clay- 
Within  the  sunset  of  a  day, 
Ere  the  soul  has  time  to  pray ! 
The  incense  floating  from  the  stems 
Of  sacred  pipes, — and  holy  men 
Filled  the  solemn  tent  with  awe 
And  odorous  clouds.     Anon  they  saw 
The  clouds  re-shape  themselves  and  fly 
In  spirit  form  distinctly  by. 
As  echo  hymns  in  worship  fell 
From  virgin  lips  he  loved  so  well 

The  Wakan-mans,  or  Priest's  Incantation. 

"  Ye  demons  of  the  great  four  storms 

Who  in  the  thunder  whirl, 
Appear  ! — and  bend  your  awful  forms 

Before  the  spell  I  hurl ! 
The  raven  and  the  small  black  stone, 

The  symbol  of  your  might, 
Are  here,  and  in  the  flames  are  thrown 

To  s;ay  you  in  your  flight! 


24  WICOTA. 

Each  solemn  star  and  mountain  rock 

Were  figured  in  my  plan 
Ere  the  new  world  felt  the  shock — 

The  prairie's  caravan  ! 
By  living  charm,  and  painted  dead, 

And  eagle's  feathered  spell 
Appear  ! — and  to  us  now  proclaim 

The  magic  of  your  Hell  !" 

(A  falcon  flies  out  of  the  u-ma-ne,  flutters,  and  a  voice 
chants :) 

"I  have  flown  from  the  Rockies 

To  answer  thy  voice  ; 
Though  the  eagle  is  mocking 

The  flight  of  my  choice. 
I  have  left  in  the  mountain 

The  bones  of  my  prey, 
And  outsoared  the  lightning, 

Thy  voice  to  obey." 

[A  grizzly   bear  is  heard  growling,    and  anotJict    voice 

sings :) 

"The  Sioux  is  great — the  Sioux  is  strong — 
Full  twenty  thousand  souls  belong 

To  the  Sioux  of  the  brook  and  the  Sioux  of  the  rain — 
To  the  Sioux  of  the  leaf,  and  the  Sioux  of  the  plain  ; — 
But  the  might  of  their  freedom  shall  dry  as  a  stream, 
And  the  breath  of  their  glory  shall  pass  as  a  dream. 
And  the  buffalo's  stamping  shall  echo  no  more, 
Where  the  steeds  of  thy  warriors  have  galloped  before ; 
And  the  trail  of  thy  forests  shall  float  in  the  flood 
Of  a  curse  and  a  woe  that  is  redder  than  blood  ! 


WICOTA.  25 

And   thy  graves  shall  be  rifled — thy  beasts  shall  be 

slain, 
And  thy  altars  be  scattered  in  chaos  again !" 

(A  viper  struggles  momentarily  in  the  u-ma  ne,  and  disap 
pears.  ) 
"  Beware!     Oh,  beware! 

The  future  for  thee 
Hath  death  and  despair 

In  its  mystery ! 
The  life-loom  of  man 

Still  weaves  in  its  web 
The  hate  of  its  span 

With  the  curse  of  the  dead ! 
A  skeleton  hand 

Shall  smite  thee  a  blow, 
But  none  understand 

The  cause  of  thy  woe. 
The  demon  of  Greed 

Still  fasten  its  fang, 
And  Cruelty  feed 

On  the  tears  of  the  damned. 
An  invisible  dagger 

Shall  pierce  through  thy  soul, 
And  Justice  shall  stagger 

Beyond  thy  control. 
A  stiffened  corpse  shaking 

The  blood  from  its  hair 
Terror  shall  waken 

A  world  of  despair!" 

(  Wicota  trembles  in  fear,  and  t/te  four  virgins  sing :) 
"Thou  hast  heard  the  mystic  voices 
Of  the  spirits  of  the  air, 


26  W1COTA. 

And  thine  enemy  rejoices 

At  the  depth  of  thy  despair; 
But  before  yon  sun  shall  lengthen 

In  his  shadow  on  the  hill, 
The  grave  shall  help  thee  strengthen 

Deep  the  purpose  of  thy  will  \ 
Like  as  we  move  out  to  the  sun 

And  skim  the  valley  o'er, 
Thy  deeper  life  shall  have  begun 

To  leave  its  native  shore." 

(The  virgins  slowly  pass  out  of  the  tent  to  the  val 
ley  to  the  north,  bearing  incense  pipes,  followed  by 
the  "Elks"  with  masks  and  antlers,  Wicota  bringing 
up  the  rear,  flashing  a  large  circular  mirror  to  the  sun. 
The  company  glide  up  the  valley  in  silent  leaps 
and  crouchings,  and  returning  to  the  elk-tent,  the  cer 
emony  closes  with  the  following :) 

Sioux  Song. 

Lost  are  the  fields  where  the  buffalo's  lowing 

Sweeps  through  the  twilight  and  breaks  through  the 
night ; 

Lost  are  our  homes,  for  the  stranger  is  growing 

In  strength,  and  our  prairies  are  crushed  in  his  might. 

Lost  are  the  elk  and  the  pride  of  dominion 

That  rolled  from  the  lakes  to  the  ridge  of  the  world  ; 

For  the  stranger  has  entered — the  great  Sioux's  opinion 
Is  lost  in  the  chaos  that  Anarchy  hurled. 

Lost  are  the  scenes  where  the  papoose  lay  playing, 
Where  love  laughed  and  whistled  her  amorous  song ; 

Lost  are  the  brooks  where  the  ponies  are  neighing, 
For  Right  has  been  crushed  by  the  terror  of  Wrong ! 


THE  SURPRISE. 

Th'  night  was  a  kind  o'  sleetin',  an'  the  wind  howled 

kind  o'  faint, 
An*  the  ghost  of  the  long  gone  summer  wailed  with  a 

sad  complaint 
As  our  preacher  lay  a'  readin'  with  his  specs  upon  his 

nose, 
Fur  his  wife  'ad  gone  to  bed,  and  kivered  with  th' 

clothes. 

•Th'   fire   still  a    kin'   o'   tunefu',    roared    in    the   open 

stove, 
As  he  stretched  his  legs  on  the  sofy,  and  his  eyes  on 

the  paper  roved, 
" Still  more  on  the  labor  question,"  he  said,  as  he  laid 

down  the  open  sheet, 
"The  struggles  of  life  ar'  hard,  an'  th'  times  ez  hard 

to  beat ; 

"The  natur'  of  man  ez  fickle,  an'  some  people  don  t 

seem  to  keer 
A  straw,  ez  long  ez  they  git  thar  fill  about  what 's  over 

there ; 
Still  there  isn't  much   use  o'  repinm',"  he  said  in  a 

weary  way, 
"The  work  one  does  for  the  morrer'   shouldn't  be 

counted  to-day." 


28  THE  SURPRISE. 

Jest  then,  ez  his  mind  was  glidin'  on,  an'  his  thoughts 
grew  kinder  low, 

An'  the  wind  in  the  joining  tree-tops  was  singin'  pain 
ful  slow, 

Thar'  came  a  rushin'  o'  footsteps,  an*  the  door  was 
opened  wide, 

And  a  crowd  o'  the  citizens  floated  in.  on  the  dark 
night's  sable  tide. 

"Who  's  dead?     Who  's  hurt?     A  caom  on  nre.-'     ne 

stuttered  all  of  a  breath, 
As  a  chill  passed  over  his  pick'ed  cheek,  like  a  sigh  from 

the  land  of  death, 
An'  then  they  all  roared   out   laughin',  and   a  brother 

made  him  a  speech, 
An'  piled  him  up  chicken  an'  such  like  an'  iok^H  till 

he  couldn't  have  preached. 

He  tried   to  thank  'em  agin  fur  thar  kindness,  but  ins 

words  stuck  fast  arid  sharp, 
"My  feelings   speaks   more  than   my  words,"  he  said, 

"as  the  music  is  more  than  the  harp. 
Now  I   know   that   the   flowers  by  the  wayside,  ar'  ez 

pretty  ez  those  in  th'  yard, 
Though   the   borders  don't  look  half  as  pleasant,  an' 

their  life  ez  a  kin'  o'  hard." 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

Gone  ! — and  Liberty  hath  lost 
The  firm  voice  of  her  friend 

And  brother,  who  in  anger  tossed 
A  spirit  that  could  bend! 

Gone ! — as  the  dogma  of  the  fool 
He  broke  across  his  knee ; — 

Who  flung  a  world  of  common  sense 
O'er  Christian  mystery ! 

Gone! — as  the  mighty  all  must  go, 
Who  voice  the  distant  hum 

Of  coming  time — now  age  is  slow 
And  orthodoxy  dumb ! 

Gone — and  America  shall  place, 
Adown  her  coming  years, 

The  memory  of  him  who  traced 
Her  struggles  in  his  tears. 

Gone  ! — where  winds  in  winter  rave 
A  requiem  o'er  his  sleep — 

Gone ! —  as  rivers  roll  their  waves 
Into  a  deeper  deep  ! 


THE  PILOT'S  SONG. 

Hold  the  wheel !  The  storm  has  risen.  Hark  !  another 
fearful  crash 

Smites  the  oaks  along  the  shore,  and  lights  the  forest 
with  its  flash ! 

Hold  the  wheel !  The  current  strengthens,  and  the 
staggering  billows  pour 

Fast  around  her  dripping  withers  with  a  grand  em 
battled  roar. 

Hold  the  wheel !  The  waves  are  gaping !  slack  the 
tempest  of  her  speed. 

How  the  angry  waters  glare  around  the  fetlocks  of  the 
steed ! 

How  she  shudders  as  she  flies  along  the  field  of  pour 
ing  rain, 

Wildly  champeth  at  the  bit  and  groans  along  the  rocky 
chain. 

Hold  the  wheel !  still  danger  threatens ;  yonder  curve 

upon  the  wave 
Points  where  the  ship  Grey  Eagle  met  the  furies  of  the 

grave ; 
Points  where  the  life-strung  nerves  of  men  broke  'neath 

the  plunging  shock 
That  hurled  the  bride  of  young  Le  Claire  upon  the 

fearful  rock. 


THE    PILOT'S  SONG.  3  r 

Hold   the  wheel !      The   future   beckons  1     See  those 

stretchers  in  the  cloud 
That  droop  along  the   vistas   like   the   fringings    of  a 

shroud  ; 
Hold  the  wheel !  For  they  are  tokens— they  are  signs 

along  that  shore 
Where  the  pilot's  hand  of  hope  shall  hold  the  silent 

wheel  no  more ! 


IMMORTALITY. 

Away  !     And  o'er  the  beaten  march 

And  struggles  of  the  past 

To  gaze  !     To  watch  again  the  farce 

Of  charms  that  gild  the  past 

Demand  of  youthful  days,  and  bid 

Identity  leap  from  the  hid 

Ashes  of  memorable  days 

To  the  music  of  forgotten  praise ! 

Away !     I  watch  the  rivers  fling 

Their  pebbles  on  the  crest 

Of  ocean !    and  hear  the  storm  sing 

Its  anthem,  as  it  wrests 

Beauty  out  of  chaos  and  moulds — 

Out  of  decaying  hills,  and  the  cold 

Graves  of  men — continents  that  rise 

In  readjusted  glory  to  the  skies. 

Away!     We  all  shall  live  agaii 

For  all  life  reappears 

To  flash  in  brighter  structure  than 

In  the  first  forms  of  the  years 

Of  Time  !     The  diamond  flashing  now 

Upon  the  tabulated  brow 

Of  monarch,  lived  in  some  dimmer  day 

A  plant.     Why  not  the  spirit  soar  away !  away! 


THE  ANARCHISTS'  HYMN. 

The  flame  of  destruction  is  kindled, 

The  wild  shriek  of  terror  is  there ; 
A  banquet  of  blood  and  of  murder, 

A  mingling  of  wrath  and  despair. 
Ha  !  ha  !  how  the  classes  are  flying ; 

Make  each  hearthstone  a  sign  for  the  dead ! 
For  the  dream  of  the  classes  is  melting ; 

"Give  us  blood,  or  the  price  of  their  bread !" 

Cursed  were  the  past  generations — 

Ha  !  Our  fathers  now  dumb  in  their  dreams 
Were  cursed,  as  the  type  they  have  left  us, 

Of  things  that  only  now  seemed 
To  exist  in  the  chain  of  dominion — 

The  slavery  of  brain  and  of  limb. 
Let  us  strike  !  for  the  curse  is  still  on  us : 

"  Give  us  blood  !  Let  it  flow  red  and  dim  !" 

Doomed  are  the  hopes  of  the  millions, 

That  pant  round  the  tread-mills  of  toil — 
Doomed  is  the  struggle  of  youth 

As  it  mounts  to  its  own  shining  goal — 
Doomed  are  the  homes  of  the  wage-men, 

That  build  up  the  altars  of  wealth, 
For  the  war-whoop  of  anarchy  gathers : 

"Give  us  blood,  or  its  value  in  pelf!" 

33 


34  THE    ANARCHISTS      HYMN. 

Down  with  the  classes  above  us ! 

Down  with  their  triumphs  of  fate ! 
Bid  rapine  and  cruelty  conquer — 

Let  slip  the  blood-hounds  of  fate ; 
Tear  down  the  temples  of  order, 

Raze  all  the  broad  fields  of  grain ; 
Give  us  blood  as  the  price  of  our  thralldom- 

Let  chaos  and  anarchy  reign ! 


THE   MUSES'  OFFERING. 

ODE  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  GEN.  JOHN  A.  LOGAN. 

When  the  Voice  of  victory  spoke, 
Bearing  freedom  with  the  stroke, 
Foremost  in  the  carnage  then 
Swept  the  hosts  of  Northern  men. 
Dying  'mid  the  cannon's  roar, 
Blood  and  shot  and  crimson  gore ; 
O'er  the  smoke  and  o'er  the  din, 
Through  the  ranks  now  growing  thin, 
There  was  heard  the  rush  of  wings 
With  the  noise  that  freedom  brings. 
There  amid  the  sulphurous  air 
We  saw  the  one — Jack  Logan — there  ! 
Soaring  over  thrones  and  poised 
The  eagle  of  our  Illinois  ! 

When  swept  that  human  avalanche, 
With  the  ligntning  in  its  glance 
That  rent  the  hosts  of  war  asunder 
And  set  the  struggling  negro  free 
'Mid  shouts  of  hungry  victory! 
Ah  !  ere  't  was  done,  or  ere  began, 
Men  heard  the  trumpet  name — Logan  ! 
......  « 

Star  of  Illinois  !  mighty  man  ! 
The  memory  of  fame 

35 


36  THE   MUSES'    OFFERING. 

Hath  home  toward  the  nation's  van 

The  magic  of  thy  name  ! 

Dream  on,  great  warrior  ;  may  thy  sleep 

Be  sweet  with  peace  as  the  deep, 

Deep  voice  of  the  republic's  fling 

New  meanings  around  the  name  of  king ! 

Who  is  a  king?     The  titled  fool, 

Who  in  the  gilded  palaces  becomes  the  tool 

Of  crowns  and  feudal  pomps  ? 

Nay  !  nay  !  he  is  the  king 

Who  helpeth  to  bring 

Others  beneath  the  mutual  sway 

Of  freedom's  imperial  day  ! 

Our  "Jack  "  was  a  king 

And  crowned  with  more 

Than  monarchies  can  give 

With  all  their  boasted  store 

Of  caste  and  class, 

And  the  down-trod  mass 

Of  labor — as  it  ebbs  and  flows 

For  the  moaning  of  the  people's  woes ! 

Ah  !  warrior  brave  !  as  time  shall  fling 

Its  fingers  o'er  thy  name, 

And  with  the  generations  sing 

The  greatness  of  thy  fame  ! 

Afric'  shall  weep  in  tribute's  tear 

Above  thy  sadly  shaded  bier, 

And  say — thou  hast  not  lived  in  vain  ! 

Warrior  and  soldier  meet, 
Dumb  in  the  silent  street, 


37 


Hushing  the  tramp  of  feet, 
Muffling  the  drum's  low  beat — 
To  bury  the  chief. 

Into  the  silent  earth, 
Lay  ye  the  soldier  deep  ; 
Silence  the  lips  ©f  mirth, 
Great  men  have  come  to  weep, 
And  bury  their  chief. 


SUMMER. 

She  comes !  I  saw  her  flashing  eye 

Gleam  on  the  saddened  worlds, 

That  roll  in  giddy  life  and  die 

With  other  things  !  all  hurled 

Into  the  great  unknown — that  sweeps 

O'er  the  unfathomable  deeps 

Of  time  and  ages — and  the  questioned  birth 

Of  all  that  glitters  on  the  beauteous  earth ! 

She  comes ! — and  to  the  varied  sounds 

Of  woodland  minstrelsy, 

Her  magic  footstep  leaps  the  bounds 

Of  rosy  hills  in  ecstacy  ! 

And  thus  — forgetting  all  that  seems  to  be 

Of  grief — she  only  seems  to  see 

The  waywardness  of  life,  and  not  the  day — 

Of  downward  motion  of  the  things  that  are  of  clay ! 

She  comes ! — I  saw  her  wildly  quaff 

The  crystal  of  the  rills  !— 

I  heard  her  silver  breaking  laugl 

Ring  down  the  enviable  hills 

Of  eve  and  morn — that  daily  lean — 

And  in  their  eternal  silence  seem 

Asleep,  within  the  burdened  arms 

Of  Time — the  healer  of  all  harms ! 


SUMMER,  35 


She  comes  ! — I  saw  her  spangled  dress 

Of  emerald  that  swept 

Across  the  empires  ! — the  nakedness 

Of  trees  and  meads — that  wept 

For  broidered  robes — she  clad — 

And  then  she  watched  the  girdled  earth 

Grow  drunken  with  her  wines  of  mirth. 


DO  NT  SAY. 

Do  n't  say  that  life  is  a  mockery  still — 

For  women  make  half  the  joys 
Of  our  hopes — when  the  heart  hath  felt  its  fill 

Of  Ambition's  empty  toys  ! 

Do  n't  say  that  the  hearts  of  all  are  cold 

As  the  ice  on  the  river  there — 
Or  the  snow-drift,  with  its  whitened  face, 

That  gleams  in  the  wintry  air ! 

But  say  that  the  deepest  rest — is  a  heart, 

That  can  feel  your  sorrows  its  own  ; 
And  count  in  each  tear  that  falls  a  part 

Of  the  pitiless  unknown ! 
40 


THE  WIDOW'S  FARM. 

PART    I. 

A  Carltonian  Quadrille. 

Drot  hang  that  off  mule !  Johnny,  just  pick  me  up  the 

line, 
For  we  ought  to  plough  to  the  hedge  and  back  afore 

it  's  dinner  time  ; 
Yer  mind  the  Widow  Green  said  that  when  she  passed 

this  way 
She  'd  stay  and  take  her  dinner,  while  her  hosses  took 

some  hay. 

Just  hitch  that  near  mule,  Johnny — yer  mother  's  been 

dead  a  year, 
And  we  've  worn  a  band  to  meetin',  whar  we  both  wept 

over  her  bier ; 
I  swan,  the  time  drags  slow,  Johnny  ;  the  sun  it  ain't 

past  ten, 
And  I  've  thought  a  heap  of  your  prospects  and  the 

Widow  Green  since  then. 

Yer  say  you  ain't  stuck  on  the  Widow,  and  that  she  's 

a'  kind  o'  proud — 
Just  fling  that  rock  near  the  fence,  Johnny,  and  do  n't 

be  so  cussed  loud, 
And  think  of  the  schoolin'  I  gave  yer,  and  shut  yer 

confounded  mouth ; 


42  THE    WIDOW  S    FARM. 

And  think  of  the  jeans  I  bought  yer  about  th«  '.ime  o' 
the  drouth. 

Yer  know  that  I  loved  yer  mother,  and  I  *ve  done  a 

good  part  by  you, 
And  all  that   I  ask  of  you,  Johnny,  ez  to  be  always 

honest  and  true  ; 
Yer  need  n't  look  down  in  the  mouth,   Johnny,  for  on 

me  yer  can  always  depend, 
Till  the  mules  kick  out  of  their  harness,  antl  scatter 

thar'  latter  end. 

I   saw  the  Widder  at  meetin',  Johnny;  she  said  that 

she  liked  yer  looks, 
And  tol'  me  to  ask  yer  pertickler  ef  yer  needed  some 

readin'  books. 
I   told  her  yer  mind  needed  trainin',  and  that  ef  she 

could  ever  call  'round, 
Maybe  yer  could  fix  it  together,  and  both  go  over  the 

ground. 

Yer  'ad  better  look  out  for  the  mules,  Johnny  ;  the 

plow  hits  'em  hard  in  spots, 
And  a  mule  that  does  nothin*  but  plungin',  never  gits 

over  the  rocks. 
I  think  that  yer  '11  like  the  Widow,  she  's  so  much  like 

yer  mother  that 's  dead  ; 
You  remember  you  whispered  in  meetin'  you  war  gone 

on  the  p'ints  of  her  head. 

Yer   say  that   she    has  n't   got   nothin'  ? — why   she  's 

worth  a  purty  sized  farm, 
And  her  out-houses  all  are  improvin',  for  I  noticed  *i 

boards  on  her  barn  : 


THE    WIDOW  S    FARM.  43 

She  's  lifted  the  mortgage,  the  sheriff  once  said,  that 

war'  on  her  old  lands, 
And   she    must  keep  a   leetle    spare    money,  for  she 

always  works  plenty  o*  hands. 

I  was  a-goin'  to  town  one  mornin',  and  I  noticed 
a  bunch  of  her  steers 

That  her  help  was  a-drivin'  afore  'em,  a-holdin'  thar 
hands  to  thar  ears  ; 

For  a  blizzard  was  bio  win'  that  mornin',  and  the  ice  on 
the  ponds  were  as  thick 

Kz  that  mule — or,  rather,  its  tail,  just  when  it 's  steer- 
in'  to  kick. 

Just  look  across  to  the  house,  Johnny,  and  see  if  her 

hosses  ez  tied — 
Since  the  rheumatiz  got  in  my  shoulder,  it  makes  me  a 

trifle  weak-eyed. 
I  tried  on  her  specs  last  Sunday,  to  see  how  the  thinj 

would  look, 
And  sat  on  the  sofy  beside  her,  and  both  looked  over 

one  book. 

Yer  say  that  her  hosses  ez  hitched,  Johnny,  and  her 

buggy  in  front  of  the  door  ; 
Wall,  yer  'd  better  unhitch  the  mules,  sonny,  for  my 

limbs  feel  a  little  bit  sore  ; 
And  I  want  yer  to  go  in  to  market,  and  buy  yer  a  hat 

down  in  town, 
For  a  boy  that 's  as  clever  as  you  are,   ought  to  be 


44  THE    WIDOW'S    FARM. 

"Balance  All  T 

And  this  ain't  Elder  Haystack  that 's  a  passin'  'roun' 

this  way  ? 
Wall,  I  'm  glad  again  to  meet  yer — and  you  spoke  of 

that  back  pay. 
My  Johnny  saw  yer  hoss  hitched  when  ploughin'  in 

the  lot— 
And  he  's  drove  to  town  your  sorrel,   just  to  see  if  it 

could  trot. 

About  that  card  you  writ'  me,  and  your  last  year's 

preachin'  bill, 
I  ain't  so  sure  the  church  has  got  the  dollars  in    its 

till. 
The  Widow  Green  is  a  member,  and  I  heard  her  stand 

and  say 
That   the    preach'    was   worth    the   money,    and   you 

ought  to  get  your  pay. 

But  thar  's   another  thing   here,    Elder :    I  hear  that 

you  've  lost  your  wife  ; 
It 's  hard  to  lose  a  workin'  one,  when  you  marry  one 

for  life — 
'Specially  when  the  crops  ez  good,  and  thar  's  niggers 

and  hands  to  feed, 
And  hired  help  can  't  be  had  for  cash,  and  white  gals 

want  to  leave. 

I  've  sat  and  thought  about  it  as  I  punched  the  chim 
ney  fire, 

And  watched  the  back- log  fling  its  flame  a  little  trifle 
higher, 


THE    WIDOW  S    FARM.  4-5 

Till  I  wondered  if  I  could  n't  start  the  whole  thing  up 

again, 
And  make  a  proposition  to  a  widder  I  could  name 

"Thy  Widow  !"  thought  the  Elder,  as  his  face  grew 

sudden  pale, 
"  When  yer  bait  to  catch  a  widow,  always  bait  to  catch 

a  whale  ; 
I  '11  have  to  lose  the  Widow  soon,  or  get  my  farmer 

friend 
To  jump    some    other   broomstick,    while    I    hold    to 

t'  other  end." 

"Though  just  how  far  the  Widow  has  made  up  her 

heart  and  mind 
Is  hard  to  tell,  if  she  's  like  the  rest  o'  the  marryin' 

womankind  ; 
If  I  could  only  catch  the  Widow  and   my  neighbor's 

fee  as  well, 
And    hitching   the    thing  together;    why — they  both 

could  work  a  spell.  " 

I 

"Your  life  gits  a  sort  of  lonesome,"  said  the  elder, 

speakin'  loud — 
"Yet  a  man  without  a  woman    is   a  sky  without   a 

cloud ; 
And,    as    I    said    at   meetin',    in    speakin'    about   this 

thing, 
The  bee  that  gets   the  honey  has  got  the  strongest 

sting ; 

And  the  ancient  verse  in  the  Scriptur'  that  speaks  of 
living  alone 


46  THE    WIDOW'S    FARM. 

Says  nothing  about  the  license  or  the  cost  of  a  furnished 
home  ; 

And  when  you  come  down  to  the  figures,  and  fully  con 
sider  the  cost, 

It 's  as  well  to  figure  the  discount  in  the  cash  that 's 
always  lost." 

"  I  reckon  that 's  so/'  thought  the  farmer,  as  he  looked 

upon  the  floor, 
' '  But  I  wish  I  could  see  the  Widow  a  comin'  in  at  the 

door; 
And  somehow  or  other  my  feelin's  gets  as  awkward  to 

handle  and  drive 
As  a  colt  that  gets  loose  in  a  pasture  and  does  n't  know 

how  to  thrive. 

But  speaking  about  the  subscription,"  said  the  farmer 

to  the  man, 
"  I  reckon  the  church  'ill  do  its  best  to  pay  the  debt  as 

it  can  ; 
John  has  paid  his  own  subscription,  and  I  have  more 

than  paid  my  part, 
So  you  'd  better  call  in  at  the  deacon's,  for  he  's  got  the 

account  by  heart. 

"  Maybe  along  in  a  month  or  so  I  '11  have  something  for 

you  to  do, 
For  in  makin'  my  calculations  I  have  kept  the  Widow 

in  view ; 
And  if  I  succeed  in  hitchin'  the  mare  to  the  family 

shaff, 
I  '11  pay  yer  well  for  yer  trouble  and  the  church's  debt 

by  half." 


THE    WIDOW  S    FARM.  47 

PART    II. 

"Change  Yoah  Pardnoahs!" 
John  Brush  ez  the  name  that  I  go  by,  and  I  live  down 

thar  on  the  branch, 
And  how  much  ez  the  license,  Mister,  for  I  hear  you  're 

the  clerk  o'  the  ranch. 
That  hoss  out  thar  ez  the  elder's,  and  I  've  trotted  him 

in  pretty  keen, 
For  this  woman  I  've  got  here  with  me  cz  known  as  the 

Widder  Green. 

I  called  at  her  house  near  the  crossin',  and  brought  her 

along  with  me, 
'Cause  the  matter  we  're  goin  to  settle,  ez  a  thing  that 

we  both  must  agree  ; 
Thar 's  a  difference  o'  nineteen  years  or  more  between 

her  age  and  mine, 
'Cause  I  'm   but  just  turned  twenty  and  she  's  gone 

thirty-nine. 

Father  and  her  has  been  writin',  and  she  's  showed  me 

the  letters,  too, 
And  the  letters  of  Elder  Haystack  and  the  p'ints  that 

he  had  in  view  ; 
And  this  mornin'  when  we  were  ploughin'  the  off  mule 

in  the  field, 
I  argeed  the  p'int  with  my  father,  but  I  found  that  he 

would  n't  yield. 

And  as  we  can  't  fix  it  exactly,   I  reckoned  to  let  it 

bile— 
So  I   left  the  elder  and  father  a  talkin1  the  matter 

awhile, 


4  THE    WIDOWS  FARM. 

And   I  drove  into  town  with  the  Widder  to  settle  the 

matter  to-day, 
And  git  yer  to   issue  the  license  and  marry  us  right 

away. 

For  things  they  ain't  been  goin'  the  pleasantest  kind  at 
home, 

And  I  feel  that  a  boy  at  twenty  oughtened  to  fool  and 
roam  ; 

And  father  is  still  in  the  notion  that  a  boy  at  twenty- 
one 

Is  bound  to  do  the  chores  and  sech,  and  finish  as  he 
begun. 

So,  just  pile  on  the  questions,  Mister,  and  ask  if  we  '11 

"obey," 
For  I  reckon  that  after  it 's  over  we  both   can  't  have 

our  way  ; 
And  what  I  now  lack  in  gumption  the  "Widder  makes 

up  in  years, 
And,  as  she's  traveled  the  ground  before,  thar  ain't 

much  use  for  tears. 

And  if  misfortune  strikes  us,  why,  yer  see,  she  's  solid 

built, 
And  can  play  the  parlor  organ  just  as  well  as  she  can 

milk ; 

And,  take  it  altogether,  I  believe  I  Ve  ketched  a  prize — 
For  the  blanks  some  people  seem  to  draw  have  made 
*me  kind  o'  wise. 

"  Let's  get  the  matter  settled,  John!"  the  Widow 
cried,  turning  'round ; 


THE    WIDOW  S    FARM.  49 

"We  can  talk  when  the  thing  is  over  and  we  're  drivin' 

out  of  town  ; 
You  have  got  the  elder's  horse,   you  know,  and  the 

'squire  don't  want  to  hear, 
And  if  you  keep  the  sorrel  long,  they  '11  think  it  a  kind 

o'  queer." 

Then  the  'squire  he  wrote  'em  the  license,  and  they 

both  stood  on  the  floor — 
John  against  the  window  and  the  Widow  against  the 

door. 
"Ar'  yer  willin'  to  take  this    partner  for  to  be   yer 

wedded  wife  ?" 
"You  bet  I  am,"  said  John,  aloud  ;  "and  I  '11  stick  to 

her  for  life." 
'  An'  you  '11  promise  to  do  the  same  by  him  ?"  asked 

the  'squire,  above  his  spec's. 
"Yes,   I'll   do  the  same,   God   help  me,  sir,  until  1 

bnries  the  next." 


JANE. 

The  sky  swings  blue  in  the  heavens, 
Yet  silvers  near  to  the  rim ; 

The  brooklet  sings  to  the  meadows 
The  notes  of  its  morning  hymn. 

Through  the  window  of  Jane's  cottage 
I  see  the  dark  green  leaves 

Of  the  plants,  and  a  single  blossom, 
Smile  from  under  the  eaves. 

A  bird  by  the  door  now  flying 
Sings  of  the  heart  at  strife — 

To  the  form  in  the  window  sighing 
The  song  of  a  wasted  life. 

Jane's  face  at  the  window  gazing 

Into  the  troubled  years  ; 
And  her  sad  voice  softly  praising 

The  past  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  past,  before  she  had  met  him 
Who  shadowed  all  her  joy, 

Who  left  her  alone — forsaken — 
To  live  with  a  newer  toy. 

She  saw  J 's  manly  figure 

One  morn  in  her  sixteenth  year, 


JANE. 

And  her  young  heart  throb'd  with  passion 
And  her  blue  eyes  filled  with  tears, 

Tears  that  she  hides  in  laughter 

Deep,  deep,  in  the  madd'ning  crowd ; 

Far  down  in  a  heart  of  secrets 
That  are  never  heard  aloud. 

J fs  love,  folks  say,  is  changeful 

And  fickle  as  the  moon ; 
Or  like  the  summer  clover, 

Can  quickly  lose  its  bloom. 

J led  her  into  a  forest, 

Where  cares  grow  tall  and  high 

Like  trees,  and  older  people 
Get  lost,  and  often  cry, 

And  sit  them  down  and  ponder, 

As  the  night  is  coming  on, 
If  their  daily  bread  of  sorrow 

Can  be  purchased  with  a  song. 

J 's  handsome  face  has  vanished 

Into  the  future— there — 
Gone — as  the  heart  can  banish 

The  curse  of  its  early  care. 

••••••• 

Go  on,  O  monster;  crushing 

In  passion  the  noblest  worth 
Of  souls  that  are  ever  rushing 

Away  from  the  peace  of  earth ! 


52  JANE. 

Go  on  !  O  world  !  with  your  getting 
Struggle  and  cheat  and  lie  ; 

Go  on  !  O  hearts  !  with  your  fretting. 
Idling  the  moments  by ! 

Jealousy  there  in  the  pulpit, 

With  its  shadow  on  the  throne — 

Till  the  heart  reels  from  the  picture 
To  the  truer  hearts  at  home. 

And  the  man  of  the  sect  still  watching 
With  a  jealous  demon's  eye 

The  gains  of  his  brother  pastor 
In  the  souls  that  never  die. 

And  ere  the  shadows  revolve  again 
The  critic  curses  the  rhyme, 

And  the  poet  sings  to  the  hearts  of  men 
The  songs  of  another  time ! 

Jane's  young  heart  clung  like  a  flower 
And  clasped  to  the  nearest  thing 

That  offered  the  bliss  of  the  hour — 
The  hope  of  a  wedding  ring. 

And  her  pleasure  of  youthful  passion 

Has  stolen  away  a  calm 
That  is  deeper  and  ever  as  voiceful 

As  thoughts  of  an  evening  psalm. 

And  it  reaches  the  inner  feeling 
Of  the  poet's  lonely  heart, 

And  it  prompts  the  pen  to  utter 
The  words  of  his  magic  art 


JANE.  53 

The  roar  of  the  world's  commotion 

Is  dead  to  my  inner  ear, 
And  the  echo  of  long  lost  voices 

The  only  sound  I  hear. 


A  CHRISTMAS   MARRIAGE 

THE    PROPOSAL. 

Two  stars  flashed  out  on  the  marge  of  night, 
Two  eyes  that  shone  with  a  pensive  light. 

The  pink  of  her  cheeks  was  all  aglow 

With  the  breath  of  the  evening's  falling  snow. 

"  Bring  flowers,"  they  whispered  as  she  stood 
Herself  a  flower  in  Life's  tangled  wood. 

The  music  stole  through  the  perfumed  roum 
In  beautiful  threads  from  Fancy's  loom. 

The  wealth  and  the  fashion  of  beauty  there, 
The  diamonds  gleamed  in  her  golden  hair. 

A  lily  slept  on  her  rounded  breast, 

And  dreamed  of  the  joy  of  the  heart  it  prest. 

Her  beauty  haunted  the  hearts  of  men ; 
Their  faces  blushed  back  their  thoughts  again. 

"The  breath  of  the  flower  is  music  to  me," 
She  said  as  she  stood — for  her  heart  was  free. 

He  gazed  in  her  face  with  tearful  eyes, 
For  his  heait  had  flown  to  its  paradise. 


A   CHRISTMAS   MARRIAGE.  $5 

"Think  of  me — alas,  won't  you  be  my  bride?" 

She  whispered,  "  When  gathers  next  Christmas-tide  " 


NEXT    CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

The  stars  in  their  lamps  were  shimmering  bright, 
Embossed  on  the  sky  of  that  Christmas  night. 

The  flower  had  lived  through  the  weary  year 
And  the  joy  of  the  Christmas-tide  was  here. 

She  smoothed  her  tresses,  but  did  not  speak 
As  the  carriage  rolled  through  the  grav'ly  street. 

Her  words  were  sighs,  and  her  looks  a  strife, 
For  her  heart  was  full  of  a  deeper  life. 

But  see !  oh,  sad — those'  steeds  have  taken  fright, 
Rushing  on  wildly  through  the  Christmas  night. 

Away !  To  yonder  river's  brink 

They  dash  like  demons  who  have  power  to  think ! 

"  O  God  !     O  Mother !"  they  heard  her  scream 
As  the  madden'd  horses  hurled  her  astream. 

Through  the  carriage  window  of  frosted  lace 
The  people  noticed  a  human  face. 

The  eyes  were  fixed,  but  they  did  not  see, 
And  the  lids  were  still  and  the  hands  were  free 


56  A    CHRISTMAS    MARRIAGE. 

They  lifted  her  into  the  bridal  room, 

And  he  kissed  the  lips  that  had  sealed  his  doom. 

But  Love  could  not  awaken  its  sleeping  bride  ; 
She  slumbered  forever  that  Christmas-tide. 


THE  WHITE  BUFFALO, 
sioux  (UNCPAPA)  HYMN. 

He  is  dead !  Erect  the  tent  poles  ;  face  the  tent  to 
ward  the  East; 

Let  the  Wakan-man  *  prepare  the  artemesia  for  the 
feast ; 

For  the  powers  of  earth  and  water,  for  the  gods  of 
earth  and  air 

Whirl  in  the  driving  tempests,  and  the  avalanche's 
glare. 

He  is  dead !     See  yonder  circles — the  symbol  of  the 

camp, 
Drawn  now  by  priestly  fingers  on  the  snow-white  boast 

that  stamped 
The  thunder  of  the  whirlwind  from  the  prairie  at  the 

dawn, 
That  tore  the  lightning  from  the  rocks  that  caught  the 

.  upland  storm. 

He  is  dead !     The  priest  is  kneeling ;  let  the  chiefs  in 

chorus  sing, 
For  the  powers  of  earth  and  water  have  revealed  to  us 

this  thing. 

"  Sioux  (Uacpapa)  priest. 

57 


58  THE   WHITE   BUFFALO. 

He  is  dead !    The  waiting  virgin  cuts  the  ceremonial 

hide, 
And  the  raven  head  is  bending  with  a  look  of  awing 

pride. 

He  is  dead !  His  blood  has  crimsoned,  with  the  fear 
ful  tide  of  life 

The  prairie's  frosted  grasses  in  the  sacrificial  strife. 

He  is  dead!  The  night  is  falling,  and  the  voiceful 
winds  are  still. 

And  a  star  is  seen  approaching  from  the  rifts  above  the 
hill. 


THE  LONE  TREE  OF  BANNER  HILL. 

A   SONG. 

Hurled  back  to  the  dust  by  the  voice  of  the  prairie 
The  Storm-King  has  vanquished  his  rival  at  length ; 
For  an  age  I  defied  him,  but  now  he  has  left  me 
The  emblem  of  weakness — the  plaything  of  strength. 

'Mid  the  violets  that  scented  the  breath  of  the  meadow 
I  parted  my  roots  for  the  panther  to  crouch ; 
When  the  red  man  was  weary  I  flung  him  a  shadow, 
And  shook  him  down  leaves  for  the  bed  of  his  couch. 

I  saw  golden  peace  wave  her  wand  o'er  the  valleys 

And — Anna — and  Cobden — Vienna  arise. 

Like  a  dream  in   the  prairie,   where  Commerce  now 

rallies 
Her  minions  of  Mammon  'neath  Liberty's  skies. 

Where  my  eagles  once  screamed  o'er  the  lambs  that 
they  purloined.  - 

And  the  buffalo  reeled  in  its  thundering  dread ; 

I  have  watched  from  my  branches  the  low  graves  of 
Du  Quoin, 

Rise  green  from  the  snow  which  encircle  her  dead. 

When  War  rent  the  hills  and  poured  blood  to  the 

ocean 
And  Slaughter  bestrided  the  hosts  of  the  slain ; 


60        THE  LONE  TREE  OF  BANNER  HILL. 

I  unfurled  from  my  heights  the   young   flag  of  the 

nation, 
And  shouted  her  victories  over  the  plain. 

I  have  ruled  o'er  the  prairie  as  God's  own  anointed, 
I  have  heard  in  the  March  wind  the  voice  of  His  spell ; 
And  I  fall — men  and  heroes — my  time  is  appointed — 
I  fall  to  the  dust  that  ye  all  love  so  well, 


I 

THE  UNFORTUNATE. 

In  the  grave-yard  of  Centralia,  far  in  Southern  Illinois. 
Sleeps  a  voice  that  vowed  a  girl  was  all  a  mother's  nar 
row  joys. 

In  those  shadows  stood  the  daughter,  where  the  living 

all  must  stand, 
As  they  watch  the  dark  clods  fall  upon  the  sleeper's 

folded  hands. 

And  the  round  moon  swings  at  midnight  far  above  that 

mother's  grave, 
And  the  sad  wind   'mid  the  cypress  chants  an  hymn 

where  she  was  laid. 

And  the  voices  in  the  stillness  hush  the  whispering  of 

prayer, 
And  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  shriek  along  the  mid 

night  air. 

And  the  frosts  weaves  solemn  fancies  on  the  branches 

of  the  yew, 
And  the  robin  in  the  sunrise  pecks  the  tears  of  fallen 

dew. 


Horror  painted  all  her  dreaming  —  horror  stifled 

grace  ; 

rlorror  wove  the  thread  of  anguish  in  the  thought-lines 
of  her  face. 


62  THE  UNFORTUNATE. 

For  the  heart  hath  deeper  meanings  than  have  struggled 

into  speech, 
And  the  sadder  things  of  mortals  have  escaped  the 

poets'  reach. 

Meanings  hushed  in  secret  that  are  never  heard  again, 
Secrets  that  are  guarded  with  a  bitterness  of  pain. 

Secrets  grimly  bolted  in  their  halls  among  the  dead, 
Where  the  dead  are  heard   to  whisper  and  a  whisper 
wakes  the  dead. 


Hush  the  babble  of  that  child-birth,  lest  her  vainer  sex 

declare 
Only  wealth  and  ancient  virtue  are  the  equals  of  the 

fair. 

That  the  womb  is  more  than  genius  is  establishing  our 

worth, 
That  our  after  life  is  nothing  to  the  moment  of  our 

birth. 

Plunged  deep  into  the  river's  night  and  left  to  gasp  and 

drown, 
Float  out  the  babes  from  many  a  breast  that  curse  a 

monarch's  crown. 

And  the  babe  of  many  a  ploughman's  cot  that  can  not 

know  its  birth, 
Shines  bright  upon  a  world  that  can  riot  estimate  its 

worth. 


THE    UNFORTUNATE.  63 

Then  her  voice  of  anguish  rising  as  the  other  voice  has 
gone, 

Though  the  dead  heard  not  her  calling,  and  the  sleep 
ing  one  slept  on ; 

When  /its  hot  breath  gasped  in  promise,  and  the  round 

world  changed  to  bliss, 
Did  he  dream  that  world  would  perish  in  a  curse  as 

deep  at^this  ? 

Shall  I  curse  him  ?  He  whose  soft  words  in  their  pas 
sion  murmured  low, 

Charmed  away  the  angel  conscience  and  the  reason's 
lucid  flow  ? 

Shall  I  wreck  him  with  a  vengeance  only  equal  to  his 

crime, 
Speed  the  arrow  to   his   own  heart   which   has   ever 

poisoned  mine  ? 

Better  hell  where  all  is  lifeless,  than  a  mother's  mad 
dened  brain ; 

Better  hell  where  all  is  horror,  than  a  murdered  infant's 
stain. 

Ah !  that  shadow  ? — yes — my  babe  ;  it  speaks — it  speaks 

my  name — 
It  comes!    I  feel   its  bloody  kiss  upon  these  lips  of 

shame. 

O  God !  my  brain  is  whirling — dancing  with  the  stars 

and  sky; 
The  grave-vaults  seem  to    shudder   as  the    phantom 

passeth  by. 


64  THE    UNFORTUNATE. 

See!  again!  the  babe's  blood  spurting  like  a  foaming 

wine  of  mirth, 
Fresh  from  out  the  drunken  lips  of  yonder  grave  of 

horrid  earth  ! 

0  Death  1    O  Death  !  remember  ;  hell  is  sweeter  than 

the  night, 
If  its  whirlwind-laden  curses  stifle  out  that  fearful  sight ! 

Young,  but  lost  and  branded  now  with  all  the  curse  of 
Cain, 

1  wander  forth  into  the  streets  to  infamy  and  pain. 

O  life!  thou  singest  falsely  to  the  maiden's  ravished 

heart, 
And  the  back  room  in  the  alley  paints  the  living  lie  of 

art. 

Thy  morning  beams  dart  downward  through  the  green 

closed  shutters  there, 
On  the  lips  of  rosy  shame,   and  on  the  slumbers  of 

despair. 

Passion,  passion,    in   her  frenzy  bids  them  drown  the 

voice  of  dread, 
And  Mammon  purchase  virtue  with  the  price  of  honest 

bread. 

Drowning,   drowning   in  the  whirpool  of  the  senses, 

splendid  dream, 
Ever  rising,  ever  sinking,  in  the  mad  delirious  stream  ; 

Where  the  law  that  binds  the  woman  sets  the  stronger 

demon  free, 
And  the  brib  ng  of  the  policeman  is  the  price  of  liberty. 


CHRISTMAS. 

AN    IMITATION. 

Ring  out,  ye  bells  of  winter, 

Over  the  hills  of  gray  ; 
Ring  out  ye  moss-grown  turrets, 

Of  the  Great  One's  glad  birthday ! 

Ring  loud  from  the  smoky  city, 
Ring  over  the  boundless  plain, 

Ring  through  the  quaint  old  valleys, 
Ring  through  the  sleet  and  the  rain  ! 

Ring  in  the  glories  before  us, 

Ring  out  the  dismal  past, 
Ring  of  the  days  that  are  better, 

Man's  future— not  his  past! 

Ring  in  a  future  for  labor ; 

Joy  for  the  lips  that  are  dumb ; 
Ring  in  a  wage  for  the  workman, 

Ring  out  the  cursing  of  rum ! 

Ring  until  the  children's  voices 
Are  borne  on  the  winds  to  Him, 

Ring  of  the  pleasure  that  gathers, 
Till  the  eyes  of  the  saints  grow  dim ! 


66  CHRISTMAS. 

Ring  of  the  joyful  message, 

Into  the  evening  time, 
Ring  with  the  poet's  fancies 

That  float  on  the  wings  of  rhyme ! 

Ring  out  a  chime  for  the  sad  ones, 

Kissing  a  last  farewell, 
Ring  out  a  comfort  for  sorrow, 

Ring  out !     O  Christmas  bell ! 


THE   CHURCHYARD   CHANT. 

With  the  silly  rumor  of  President  Cleveland  carrying  a  horse-chest 
nut  in  his  pantaloons  pocket,  for  luck,  arise  a  number  of  superstitious  frag 
ments  concerning  horse-shoes  and  other  things  which  are  supposed  to 
possess  some  occult  power  of  a  hurtful,  a  healing,  or  a  protective  kind. 

"  Dar  '11  be  bad  luck  in  dis  house  for  seven  years,"  wailed  a  colored 
woman  in  the  presence  of  the  writer,  as  a  small  looking-glass  lay  shivered 
by  accident  at  her  feet.  With  the  horrible  superstitions  of  a  graver 
character,  and  of  less  civilized  days,  is  now  passing  out  of  the  popular 
mind  a  once  dark  belief  in  witches  and  devils.  Traces  of  this 
abominable  faith  in  devil-worship,  the  writer  traced  in  a  peculiarly 
modified  form,  a  few  years  ago,  among  the  negroes  of  Mississippi, 
Kentucky,  and  in  the  mountains  of  Alabama.  For  a  weird  dream,  im 
agine  a  score  or  more  negresses  chanting  at  midnight  in  an  old 
deserted  churchyard  such  an  incantation  as  the  following  dramatic 
fragment : 

First   Negress. 
De  moon  hangs  high  on  de  river's  brim, 

An'  de  stars  gleam  ober  de  hill ; 
De  ghosts  in  de  tree  glare  out  ob  de  limb, 

An'  de  voice  ob  de  night  is  still ; 
An'  de  song  ob  de  river's  voice  is  crushed,  is  crushed  ! 
An'  de  song  ob  de  owl  is  hushed  ; 

An'  dar  forms  in  de  cloud  hangs  low,  hangs  low. 
Hush  ye  witches  ! 
Hush  ye  witches  ! 
For  dar  forms  in  de  cloud  hangs  low,  hangs  low. 

Second   Negress. 
Steppin'  lightly  o'er  de  grass, 

Witches  do  not  move  so  fas' — 

67 


68  THE    CHURCHYARD    CHANT. 

For  de  demons  ob  de  dead 
Which  de  sons  ob  mortals  dread, 

Shall  speak ! 

Shall  speak ! 

Third   Negress. 

Place  de  magic  ox-hoofs  here — 
Let  de  sparks  ob  awful  fire 
From  de  nether  world  aspire  ; 
Scatter  now  de  virgin's  blood  ; 
Hang  her  heart  above  de  grave, 
An'  de  voice  ob  night  declare 
Demons  ob  de  earf  an'  air  ! 

Fourth    Negress. 

Awful  to  mortal  sight — 
Minions  of  hell  and  night ! 
Wreck  of  a  blasted  world, 
Cursed  by  a  power  hurled 
Into  de  mystic  sea, 
Madness  and  mystery  ! 

Fifth    Negress. 
What  is  dat  we  hear  ? 
Witches  do  not  fear ! 
Let  each  demon  meet 
In  his  winding  sheet — 
In  his  form  of  death, 
With  his  icy  breath, 
Come  here ! 
Come  here ! 
Sixth    Negress. 
Wither!  wither! 
Shiver !  shiver ! 


THE   CHURCHYARD    CHANT.  69 

Watch  dem  prance. 
Madly  dance 
All  aroun' 
On  de  groun' ! 

Seventh  Negress. 

See !  Grim  Despair 
Shakin'  her  hair 

Mournfully ! 

Mournfully ! 

To  and  fro. 

Eight   Negress. 
Shades  ob  de  darkes'  hell, 
Weavin'  dar  deepes'  spell, 
Arts  from  the  lifeless  moon, 
Bearin'  de  mortal's  doom. 

Are  here  ! 

Are  here ! 

Ninth  Negress. 

Death  and  destruction 

Dar  sceptres  obey, 
The  worm  and  corruption 

Gloat  over  dar  prey  ! 

Tenth  Negress. 

Teach  us  your  wisdom,  ye  spirits  of  wrath, 

Who  sweep  in  de  whirlwind  and  ride  on  de  sea ; 

Who  scatter  de  ashes  of  worlds  in  your  path 
And  shriek  out  de  woes  of  their  mystery ! 

Eleventh    Negress. 

Demons  of  burnin'  fire 
Flashin'  your  deep  desire ; 


7O  THE    CHURCHYARD    CHANT. 

Snakes  twinin'  in  your  breast 
Suitin'  your  madness  best ; 
Charms  of  a  thousand  hells 
Wake  in  your  magic  spells ; 
Souls  of  the  flamin'  pit, 
Ride  ye  with  spur  and  bit ; 
Famine  at  your  comman' 
Curses  the  earth  and  Ian'  ; 
War  from  the  gory  plain 
Echoes  your  curse  again ; 
Jealousy  saunters  by, 
Death  in  her  evil  eye  ! 

Twelfth   Negress. 

.  Come  with  your  hoofs  and  hair  ! 
Come  with  your  mad  despair ! 
Come  with  your  eyes  alight ! 
Come  with  the  crimes  of  night ! 
Come  with  your  nameless  truth  ! 
Come  with  the  curse  of  youth ! 
Come  from  your  deepest  cave ! 
Come  dance  about  this  grave  ! 


THE  DYING  POET. 

[Thomas  Chatterton,  of  Bristol,  is  universally  conceded  to  be  the 
greatest  prodigy  in  English  literature.  He  died  before  he  was  eighteen 
years  of  age.  Political  essays,  burlettas,  satiric  poems,  and  literary 
matter  of  almost  every  conceivable  description  flowed  from  his  pen  in 
a  marvelous  torrent  which  astonished  the  world.  He  died  of  neglect, 
contempt,  and  starvation.  "On  Saturday  his  landlady"  (whose  gentle 
appreciation  of  genius  was,  of  course,  measured  by  its  facility  for  the 
prompt  payment  of  coal  bills  and  room  rent),  "  alarmed  that  her  lodger 
did  not  make  his  appearance,  had  the  door  of  his  room  broken  open ; 
saw  the  floor  littered  with  small  pieces  of  paper,  and  Chatterton  lying 
on  the  bed  with  his  legs  hanging  over,  quite  dead"} 

I. 

On  the  mast  of  the  night  there  sailed  from  afar, 

The  glimmering  lamp  of  a  virgin  star; 

The  wind  howled  without  like  a  ghost  of  the  sea, 

And  chanted  the  song  of  its  mystery ; 

And  the  leaves  hurled  along  in  their  maddening  play, 

Chasing  the  spirit  of  evil  away. 

The  dying  light  on  the  silent  hearth 

Sputtered  in  music  and  gibbered  in  mirth, 

Flinging  a  form  on  the  garret  wall 

Like  a  figure  wrought  on  a  demon's  pall. 

II. 

And  I  have  sung  to  the  hearts  of  men 
The  song  they  never  shall  hear  again ; 
The  song  is  sung  and  the  task  is  o'er — 

A  life  floats  loose  from  its  day-lit  shore, 

7* 


72  THE    DYING    POET. 

Out !  out !     Far  out  to  the  tideless  sea, 
God's  image  of  eternity  ! 

in. 

The  poet's  garret  in  ruin  bare, 

Flapped  its  ragged  curtain  there  ; — 

Some  old,  worn  books,  whose  thoughts  were  fresh, 

Stripped  and  torn  of  their  mental,  flesh ; 

Books  of  the  past,  that  had  eased  his  pain, 

Books  of  the  present,  that  smiled  in  vain. 

The  present  ?     Ha  !  ha  !  and  how  could  he  stay 

Where  only  the  ripples  of  fancy  play — 

When  he  heard  the  thoughts  .of  the  present  roar 

In  the  rush  of  the  songs  that  had  gone  before  ? 


IV. 


The  poet  laid  his  trembling  hand 
Upon  the  writing  near  the  stand, 
Then  tossed  upon  his  fevered  bed, 
And  stroked  the  brow  of  his  aching  head 
That  lay  athwart  the  pillows  there, 
Dreaming  a  hollow,  dark  despair. 
His  glance  fell  wildly  on  the  flame, 
As  if  to  find  some  human  name, 
That  often  long  forgotten  lie 
Upon  the  shores  of  destiny, 
Then  suddenly  become  the  prey 
Of  the  swift  intide  of  memory. 
He  shifted  his  glance  to  the  awful  night ; 
His  pale  lips  moved  with  a  ghastly  white, 
As  his  dark  hair  floated  around  a  face 
Adorned  with  a  brow  of  youthful  grace  • 


THE    DYING    POET.  73 

And  on  the  fever-tumbled  sheet 

His  thin  arm  lay  like  an  idle  streak 

Of  flesh — stripped  to  its  size  of  hated  bone, 

So  ghastly  white  it  gleamed  and  shone : 

And  the  flame  in  his  eyes  bore  a  fitful  gleam, 

Like  the  moving  light  of  a  troubled  stream 

When  the  current  below  has  spent  its  play 

In  the  sport  of  its  summer  holiday. 

He  watched  the  dim  light  rise  and  fall, 

He  was  so  weak  he  could  not  crawl 

To  sip  the  water  on  the  chair, 

That  Indigence  left  sitting  there ; 

And  once  when  he  tried  to  reach  the  door, 

And  shout — shout  loud  along  the  floor 

For  help  to  fight  the  awful  hour 

His  proud  will  mightier  than  his  power — 

He  sank  on  his  dying  pillow — chill 

And  cold  as  the  corpse  of  a  life  that  is  still ! 

Sank !  a  mere  youth  upon  the  dry  breast 

Of  a  world  that  was  cursed  with  a  vague  unrest ; 

A  world  that  had  trampled  and  cursed  its  own, 

And  loved  not  the  spirit  that  sang  to  its  moan. 

v. 

"  My  soul!  "  he  murmured,  as  he  died, — 

"Thou  driftest  on  the  immortal  tide; 

And  the  earthly  form  of  thy  robe  of  light 

Shall  sleep  on  the  bridal  couch  of  night ; 

And  into  the  regions  unknown  before, 

The.  wing  of  thy  thought  shall  rise  and  shall  soar, 

And  the  flight  of  thy  pinion  out-measure  the  years, 

And  the  rapid  falling  of  human  tears. 

Alas  !  the  breast  heaves ;  ah !  the  moment  has  come ! 


74  THE    DYING   POET. 

My  vision  is  failing !  I  hear  the  dim  hum 

Of  the  worlds, — as  the  gates  of  my  heart 

I  hear  closing — and — shut  out — and  part 

From  my  soul — that — now  weeps — at  the — bars- 

O  f — its — li  fe — and — mounts — up — to — the — stars  ! 


A  BARN-YARD  FABLE. 

A  rooster  who  lived  in  a  barn-yard,  turned  up  his  head 

to  the  cloud, 
And  strutted  afore  all  his  chickens,  and  acted  a  kind 

o'  proud ; 
And  looked  at  his  hens  in  the  smoke-house  and  counted 

his  family  stock, 
And  the  eggs  in  the  gourd  of  his  widders  that  stood 

just  under  the  rock. 

But  an  eagle  that  war  a  screamin',  out  near  the  big 

sweet-gum, 
Flew  clean  in  front  of  the  barn-yard  and  envied  the 

rooster  some ; 
And,  I  think,  felt  a  kind  o'  sneakin',  for  I  heard  the  ol' 

rascal  say: 
"  Yer  preemerses  look  so  handsome,  and  how  do  you 

do  to-day  ?" 

Then  the  rooster  he  looked  at  his  feathers  an'  jippideed 

over  the  straw, 
And  put  on  the  airs  of  a  peacock  with  a  million  in  his 

craw; 
And  said  that  he  calc'lated,  perwidin'  the  thing  could 

be  done, 
To  sell  off  the  eggs  of  his  widders  and  take  him  a  home 

near  the  sun. 

75 


/  A    BARN-YARD    FABLE. 

He  said,  "I  war    meant  for  an  eagle,   but  the  farm 

made  a  ejiot  of  me 
And  kept  me  a  peckin'  at  barn  doors  instid  of  a  soarin' 

free, 
Though  when  I  peer  down  on  my  feathers,  and  think 

of  how  handsom'  I  look, 
I  feel  'bout  ez  good  ez  an  eagle,  with  a  wing  like  a 

prunin'  hook. 

"  But  my  chickens  has  now  grown  as  plenty  as  Abram's 

seed  once  were, 
And  I  've  still  got  to  keep  on  a  scratchin'  to  keep  'em  in 

eatin'  and  wear  ; 
And  the  family  still   keeps    a  growin',   and  I  reckon 

they  '11  never  git  done, 
Until  the  bones  of  my  children  sleeps  under  the  big 

sweet-gum. 

"  And  then  I  find  thar  are  moments  when  I  do  n't  want 

to  be  quite  as  free, 
'Special'  ez  long  ez  the  young  hens  keeps  up  thar  kissin' 

o*  me  ; 
But  I  always  wanted  to  fly,  sir,  and  be  like  an  eagle 

and  soar, 
Instid  of  a  watchin'  my  chickens,  and  peckin'  around  a 

barn  door. 

"  I  've  'eerd  that  thar  ain't  any  difference  (between  the 

great  eagles  that  fly 
Far   over  the    p'ints   of  the    Rockies  and  up  to  the 

speckled  sky, 


A    BARN-YARD    FABLE.  77 

And  my  chickens  that  pick  up  the  grub  worms  and 

scatter  around  in  the  yard, 
Or   Biddy    that 's   only  one    chicken,   yet   cackles    so 

mighty  hard. 

"And  I  can  't  jess  believe  thar's  a  difference,  'cause  I 

feel  jest  as  good  as  you, 
And  reckon  a  rooster's  feelin's — as  an  argeement  will 

do; 
For  this  thing  o'  thar  bein'  a  difference — it  ain't  good 

Providence, 
For  a  rooster  could  turn  to  an  eagle  if  he  only  got  the 

chance." 

The  Eagle. 

Then  the  eagle  answered  the  rooster,  and  said  He  was 

glad  to  know 
He  was  tired  o'  stayin'  in  barn-yards,  an'  livin'  so  po' 

and  low. 
Sez  he:    "  I  '11  adap'  yer  chickens,  and  take  'em  away 

to  school, 
And  teach  'em  some  higher  notions,  and  the  p'ints  in 

the  Golden  Rule. 

"And  every  one  shall  be  eagles,  and  learn  fur  to  fly 

as  high — 
As  e'er   a  one  of  the  eagles  that  soars  in  a  purple 

sky. 
They  shall  build  their  nests  on  the  mountains,  whar  the 

clouds  and  the  views  ez  grand, 
And  never  fool  down  in  the  barn-yards,  or  live  in  the 

reach  of  land.'7 


78  A    BARN-YARD    FABLE. 

And  the  pullets    they  all  war  happy,   and  chirruped 

with  all  thar  might, 
And  the  older  hens  o'  the  barn-yard   clucked  with  a 

quar'  delight — 
Jist  like  some  gals  in  the  country  talkin'  o'  livin'  in 

town — 
Because   it  '11   suit  thar  fancy  to  strut  in   a    fine  silk 

gown. 

tl  But   afore    we    settle    th'    bargain,"    the  eagle  then 

went  on, 
"Supposin'   I  tak'  you  an'  a  couple  of  the  sweetest 

pullets  along ; 
An'  after  yer've  stayed  a  week  or  so,  come  back  and 

let  them  know 
How  much    finer   eagles  live  than   the  chickens  here 

below." 

Then  the  rooster  he  consented,   'cause  he  thought  it 

would  be  ''life  " 
To  enjoy  the  mountain  breezes  with  two  pullets  for  a 

wife. 
And  agin  he  iled  his  feathers,  and  thought  of  the  times 

to  come 
When  he  'd  introduce  his  pullets  to  the  eagles  of  the 

sun. 

Then  the  pullets  both  got  ready  with  the  rooster  to  fly 

away 
With  the  eagle  up  to  the  mountains  that  ketches  the 

light  of  the  day. 
And    the    eagle    screamed    to    his    partner   when    he 

reached  his  thorny  crest, 


A    BARN-YARD    FABLE.  79 

To  come  and  kiss  the  pullets  and  the  rooster  in  thar 
nest. 

But  the  pullets   both   began   cryin',    and   the  rooster 

wanted  to  go 
Back  down  to  his  home  in   the  barn-yard,  far  away  in 

the  plain  below. 
Then  the  eagles  laughed  at  their  folly,  an'  ate  'em  up 

one  by  one, 
And  burned  up  the  rooster's  feathers  in  the  furnace  of 

the  sun. 

The  Moral. 

Many  a  farmer  ez  happy  until  some  great  city  man, 
A   sellin'   o'   organs  or   sech   like,   works   on  him  the 

eagle's  plan. 
Ambitious   to   be  what   yer   can  't  be,  ez  a  cursin'  o' 

human  life  ; 
An'    to  imagine   oneself   to  be  somethin',    is    oft  th' 

beginnin'  o'  strife1. 

The  crust  o'  contentment  is  better  than  bushels  o'  sil 
ver  or  gold 

And  a  cabin  with  only  a  baby  is  sweeter  than  land  that 
ez  sold, 

And  peace  ez  wuth  more  than  a  million,  and  a  heart 
that  ez  singiri  with  hope 

Ez  stronger  ter  overcom  sorrow  than  a  rooster  s  vain 
braggirf  and  croak. 


TO  LOVE  IS  NOT  ALL. 

I  read  o'er  your  letters  so  cheerful  and  dreaming ; 

I  watch  thy  young  thoughts  that  are  scampering  here, 
And  I  glean  from  your  pages  a  wonderful  meaning, 

And  offer — my  only  sad  tribute — a  tear ! 
I  would  not  mar  anything  of  your  deep  pleasure, 

Or  shadow  the  sunbeam  of  youth  with  a  pall ; 
But  simply  suggest,  in  the  line  of  the  measure, 

In  battling  with  life — that  to  love  is  not  all! 

But  ah  !  that  it  were  ! — that  the  tides  of  emotion — 
That  thrill  through  the  soul  with  their  magical  spell, 

And  dreams  of  the  heart  in  its  wilder  devotion — 
Would  never  ebb  low  on  the  bosom  of  hell ! — 

Till  the  heart,  in  its  anguish,  recoils  at  the  picture, 
And  stifles  its  groan  in  the  clarion  call 

Of  years  of  ambition — till  its  poisonous  moisture 

Hiss  deep  from  its  dregs — that  to  love  is  not  all! 

80 


THE  ELDER'S  WELCOME. 

An'  yer  've  com'  to  hoi'  a  meetin'  ?     Wall,  com'  in  and 

take  a  cheer, 
We  've    hed   a   heap  o'  preachers  that    'as    held  thar 

meetin's  heer  ; 
Jest  put  yer  verlise  on  the  porch.      Why,  yer  look  a 

sort  o*  young, 
A  kin*  ez  ef  yer  was  n't  blessed  with  a  powerfu'  sight 

o'  tongue. 

Thar  's  Brothers  Brown,  an'  Baker,  thet  's  ex'orted  in 
these  parts, 

But  I  reckon  that  they  can  't  comprehend  the  peo 
ple's  heerts — 

An'  thar's — well,  I  '11  be  dog — gone — don — it — what 
makes  yer  look  so  thin  ? 

Ar'  yer  troubled  with  neuralgy,  or  some  other  human 
sin  ? 

An'  thar 's  Brother  Wineyslicker  that 's  wuth  a  caucus 

on  a  prayer — 
But  he  can  't  hold  a  shuckin*  to  our  peert  young  brother 

thar — 
An'  thar's— What?     Ar'  yer  troubled  with  the  bile, 

young  man,  yer  look  ez  ef  yer  ware, 
Yer  stand  so  mighty  curious  like,  an'  yer  moustache 

looks  so  bare. 

81 


82  THE  ELDER'S  WELCOME. 

Yer'll  find  the  wash-pan  near  the  well,  the  soap  is  on 
the  wall, 

Yer'll  have  to  use  the  soft-soap,  or  yer  can  't  get  none 
at  all ; 

Yer  '11  find  the  towel  behind  the  door,  and  the  chick 
en  's  almost  done, 

Yer  look  a  kin'  o  young,  but  then  I  guess  yer 'II  suit  us 
some. 


1 887    AND     1888. 

Go  !     Bury  the  year, 
Shedding  a  tear 
Over  her  bier. 

Go  !     Scatter  the  flowers  : 
Gone  are  her  powers, 
Flown  with  the  hours. 

Go  !     The  frost  lieth  thin, 
Chant  ye  an  hymn, 
The  sky  groweth  dim. 

Go  !     Lay  her  to  rest, 
The  snow  on  her  breast, 
God  knoweth  best. 

(1888.) 

The  year  touched  the  cheek  of  the  earth, 
As  he  slept  in  the  December  night, 

And  he  woke  from  his  dreaming  of  mirth, 
And  smiled  on  the  New  Year  of  light. 

Then  he  pushed  back  the  curtains  of  morn, 
That  swung  on  the  cords  of  the  air ; 

And  he  gazed  on  her  beautiful  form, 
And  the  wealth  of  her  golden  hair. 


84  1 887    AND    1888. 

He  pillowed  his  head  in  his  hand  ; 

He  drank  in  the  beams  of  her  face  ; 
He  counted  the  diamonds  that  spanned 

The  charms  of  her  nonchalant  grace. 

He  leaped  from  the  bed  he  had  lain, 

Arrayed  in  his  garments  of  mist ; 
The  clouds  and  the  mountains  and  rain 

Must  have  heard  it,  you  know— -for  they  kissed. 


A  POST-OFFICE  VISITOR. 

She  war  large,  she  war  pussy  an'  fat,   an'  she  spoke 

with  a  kurios  grin — 
An'  the  hole  in  the  post-office  winder  jest  about  kivered 

her  chin, 
Ez   she  yelled,  "I    reckin  yer   ain't   'eerd   from   that 

scamp  of  a  Jim  ? 
I  writ  him  jest  three  weeks  ago,   an'  I  'm    an    age    a 

'eerin'  from  him." 

Th'  gal  in  th'  winder  looked  out,  an'  handed  a  postal 

card — 
I  did  n'  see  what  thar  waz  on  it,  fur  I  wuz  a  fixin'  my 

lard, 
Or  the  cover  upon  my  tin  can,  an'  my  seein'  ez  still  a 

bit  hard, 
An'  a  crowd  of  th'  town  folk  war  thar,  an'  Jenny  my 

wife  an'  my  pard. 

"  Yer  ken  go  ter  grass  with  yer  postal !"  she  yelled,  ez 

she  started  back, 
An'  shook  that  'ere  postal  afore  her,  jest  like  a  pizened 

rat, 
Or  a  coon  that 's  tryin'  to  bite  yer  through  an  ol'  coffee 

sack, 
Or  like  Jenny  a  lickin'  Johnny  when  thar  's  creepers  in 

his  cap. 


86  A    POST-OFFICE    VISITOR. 

"  This  yer  postal  ain't  from  him !"  she  neighed,  ez  she 

dashed  to  the  door, 
An'  the  town-folks  all  struck  up  a  grinnin',  I  reckon 

thar  war  a  score ; 
"  Yer  kan  't  work  yer  postal  on  this  un  ;  I  know  Jim's 

own  writin'  afore  ; 
This    'ere  card    ez  from  Kansas — it's  a  dun  from  ol' 

Susan  Moore ! 

We  bought  a  cow  from  them  critters,  jest  'fore  they 

started  out  West — 
An'  th'  cow  it  ain't  worth  a  milkin',  an'  her  calf  it 

wont  take  to  the  breast — 
I  wish  yer  would  write  to  them   Moores  ;  when  they 

come  I  can  settle  the  rest; 
Jest  drop  'em  a  postal  an'  tell  'em  to  take  thar  oP  steer 

an'  be  blest." 

O,  Lor' !  how  them  town  folks  did  titter,  an'  Jenny  she 

tugged  at  my  sleeve  ; 
An'  our  mare  in  the  winter  spring-wagon  looked  up 

an'  neighed  fur  to  leave ; 
An'  the   gal  in  the  post-office  winder  looked  kind  o' 

puzzled  an'  red, 
Kase  the  woman  a  sort  o'  lacked  gumption,  or  lied  a 

screw  loose  in  her  head. 

"Yer  grin  like  a  passel  of  ijjuts!"  she  shrieked  in  a 

mighty  hot  tone, 
Ez  she  flung  her  umbrell'  all  around  her,  an'  her  face 

grow  ez  red  ez  a  cone  ; 


A    POST-OFFICE   VISITOR.  87 

' '  I  reckon  I  know  my  own  bizness,  yer  dirty  galoots — 

get  yer  home !" 
An'  I  reckon  we  soon  must  have  got,  fur  we  toted  and 

left  her — alone. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  GRAVE. 

A  deep  voice  spake  beneath  me 

From  the  hollow  of  the  grave, 
And  said:    "  Know  thou  that  life  is  not 

Thine  own  to  gain  or  save. 
Go  ! — Work  amid  the  wants  of  men — 

Or  in  the  alley's  gloom — 
Give  to  each  task  of  life  again 

The  fragrance  of  its  bloom. 
No  great  ones  but  the  great  of  heart 

Pass  through  these  portals  here — 
Wealth  can  not  buy  from  those  it  parts 

The  value  of  a  tear. 
Go ! — Work  amid  where  Hunger  prompts 

The  poor  to  beg  and  lie — 
Go  ! — Work  where  Prostitution  walks 

And  Beggary  curtsies  by. 
So  shalt  thou  find  in  thy  good  task 

A  healing  for  thy  woe  ; 
Thy  stain  shall  vanish  in  the  eve 

Of  thy  life's  after-glow. 


THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

DIED    FEB.     5,     1 88 1. 
1 

Thou  mighty  man,  as  Time  shall  fling 

Its  fingers  o'er  thy  name, 
And  with  the  generations  sing 

The  greatness  of  thy  fame. 
The  West  shall  shed  a  tribute  tear, 
And  worship  o'er  thy  frozen  bier  ; 

Thou  hast  not  lived  in  vain  ! 
For  we  are  many  who  revere 
The  Godlike  hero-worshiper. 

Now  Fred'rick's  sun  sinks  pale  and  dim, 

When  nations  sing  of  war ; 
The  eyes  of  Prussia  follow  him 

And  his  biographer ! 
At  thy  command  its  sun  stood  still ! 
And  Europe  gazed,  against  its  will, 

On  Time's  broad  horizon, 
To  watch  its  universal  light 
Sink  in  the  memory  of  night. 

Peace  to  thy  grave.      O  eyes  of  heaven, 

Watch  o'er  the  poet's  cell ! 
America  be  unforgiven 

If  she  forget  the  spell, 


9o 


THOMAS   CARLYLE. 

Thrown  o'er  her  quick'ning  mind 
By  a  spirit  unconfmed, 

Where  other  spirits  dwell ! 
May  oblivion's  vortex  never  lure 
Scotland's  Star  of  Literature ! 


LIFE. 

Life  is  action  !     Onward  bravely 
To  its  battle-field  of  strife  ; 

Let  its  sacrifices  teach  thee, 
Action  is  the  soul  of  life ! 

Brighter  sparks  of  truth  inflame  us, 
Conscience  flings  a  steady  ray ; 

There  's  no  night,  however  pathless, 
Yet  beyond  the  reach  of  day. 

Life  is  action  !     Daring  mortal, 

Mount  its  sacrificial  pyre  ! 
God  shall  weave,  with  hand  immortal, 

Thee  a  coronet  of  fire ! 

What  if  earth  should  not  reward  thee 
For  thy  undiscovered  strife ! 

Dare — and  labor,  nobly,  freely, 
Heaven  's  the  ultimate  of  life ! 

In  that  unrevealed  future, 
Hidden  from  the  mortal  eye, 

On  its  broad,  expansive  acre, 
Bloom  the  hopes  that  never  die. 


DE  OL'  VIRGINNY  TIMES. 

I  'ze  seed  a  heap  ob  changes  since  de  morning  I  was 

born 
(When   I   fus'  heard   Massa  toot  dat  ol'  brass  dinner 

horn) ; 
Tho'  I  was  n't  feelin'  well  jes  den,  I  fought   my  way, 

an'  climbed 
Out  to  de  world  an'  shouted,    "  O,  dis  sweet  Virginny 

time!" 

De  mule  dat  in  my  boyhood  bent  de  straightnin'  in  my 

limb, 
Has    eaten    all    his    clover,    an'    has    sung  his  partin' 

hymn  ; 
An'  de  wagon  dat  I  drove  to  town  an'  squeaked  jess 

like  dis  rhyme, 
Has  blossomed  into  firewood  since  dat    ol'  Virginny 

time. 

Far   away   in   dat  plantashun   wher'    de    ol'  folks  lay 

asleep, 
An'  de  sunflo'r  stands  a  braggin'  near  de  water-melon 

heap, 

Was  wher'  I  fus'  saw  Linda  standin'  'neath  de  limes, 
In  de  happy,  scrumpt'ous  moments  ob  de  ol'  Virginny 

times. 

She  stood  a-leanin'  near  de  branch,  ez  pert  as  some 

queen  bee ; 

92 


DE   OL'    VIRGINNY    TIMES.  93 

Her  teeth  shone  like  de   cotton  pod,   an'  looked   ez 

sweet  to  me  ; 
An'  many  a  time,  when  in  de  war  wid  Yankees  in  de 

line, 
Dis  nigger's  thoughts  went  floatiri'   to  de  ol  Virginny 

time. 

We    did  n't   care    for   money    den  —  it    grew  upon    de 

groun'  ; 
An'  chickens  could  be  always  had  by  simply  lookin' 

roun'  ; 
De  young  shoats  an'  de  spare-ribs,  too,  wid  apple-sass 

combined, 
Grew    wid    de    sweet  persimmons  in   de  ol'  Virginny 

time. 

De  bucket  on  de  ol'  log  chain  am  rustin'  in  de  well, 
De  moss  am  growin'  on  de  oaken  bucket's  rim  a  spell  ; 
De  flo'rs  dat  blossom  on  de  walk  hab  wither'd  in  dar 

prime, 
An'  de  cabin  has  changed  sadly  since  de  ol'  Virginny 

time. 

An'   I  often   sit  an'  wonder,  now  my  hair  am  gittin' 


Ef    de    freemen    ob  Virginny  see   sech    happy  times 

to  day  — 
Ef  de  freein'  ob  de  niggers  has  so  much  improved  de 

kind, 
Dat  dey  neber  sit  an'  ponder  on  de  ol'  Virginny  time. 

I  'm  ol',  an'  lame,  an*  feeble,  now,  an'  climbin'  up  de 
slope 


94  DE   OL     V1RGINNY   TIMES. 

Wher'    both    nigger   an'    de  white    man  see  de  same 

bright  star  ob  hope — 
I  'm   totterin*  up   de  great  white  throne  to  whar'  de 

seraphs  shine, 
To  sing  de  song  I  love,  about  de  ol'  Virginny  time. 

Dar  's  jess  one  thing  I  ask  for,  when  de  trumpet  blows 

for  me  : 
Jess   to   lay   dis    po'    dead    nigger   'neath    ol'   Misses' 

apple  tree — 
Wher'  I  used  to  hitch  de  hosses  on  de  rack  across  de 

line, 
An'  hung  de  hempen  halter  in  de  ol'  Virginny  time. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

AN    ANSWER. 

What  if  the  depths  of  Burns'  learning 
Was  not  fathomless — as  thine  ; 

Learning  's  but  another's  earning, 
Toiling  at  the  forge  of  mind  ! 

If  his  cottage  passed — unnumbered — 
And  the  proud  ne'er  entered  there — 

Nature's  jewels  always  slumber 
In  her  quarries  rough  and  bare ! 

If  his  manly  hand  was  hardened 

By  the  grip  of  honest  toil — 
Life 's  a  very  weedy  garden — 

Tears  and  failures  make  the  soil ! 

95 


SEVERED. 

When  from  thy  lips  of  faithless  love  the  evening  vow 

had  fell, 
I  ne'er  once  thought  that  thou  wouldst  turn  this  bosom 

to  a  hell  ; 
But  trusting  in  the  empty  word  which  trembled  on  thy 

breath, 
.1  gave  thee  all  my  heart  could  give,  and  pledged  thee 

mine  till  death! 

I  've  wondered   why  the  loves  of  earth,   like    golden 

beams  at  noon 
Or  autumn   mists  in  sunshine,    should    float    away  so 

soon  ; 
I  've  wondered  why  the  wondrous  snows  which  winters 

fling,  are  cold, 
Enshrouding  trees  with  beauty,  yet  chill  with  icy  fold. 

But  now  in  thought  they  tell  me  of  those  sullen  nights 

of  doom 
When  the  frosts  of  human  anguish  nip  the  heart  in 

early  bloom 
Like  some  childhood  flower — forsaken — my  spirit  has 

been  hurled 
And  left  to  float  adrift  upon  the  laughter  of  a  world  ! 

I  do  not  wish  a  sorrow  to  roll  o'er  your  chosen  course, 
Or  retrospection  to  bring  back  the  anguish  of  remorse  ; 


SKVKRKL). 


From  woman's  lips  of  artless  love  how  many  vows  have 

fell, 
And  yet  those  broken  vows  have  proved  the  golden 

snares  of  hell  ! 


DEPTHS. 

No  !     I  would  not  hear  repeated 
Thy  self-gained  woes  again — 

When  the  murder  in  the  meaning 
Falls  from  the  lips  of  men. 

By  the  mass  of  men  who  mutter 
Of  wrongs  they  can  not  heal — 

There  are  woes  too  deep  to  utter, 
And  passions  too  bitter  to  feel. 

Ah !  much  of  thy  life  is  folly, 

And  much  of  thy  death  is  life  — 
The  soul  that  labors  in  silence 

Avoids  the  stabs  of  the  strife. 

98 


AN   EIGHT-LINE  NOVELETTE. 

A  young  man  sighed  on  a  garden  gate 

As  a  storm  of  the  night  was  blowing  over, 
And  the  soft  wind  howled  like  a  ghost  at  a  wake 

And  his  cheeks  were  flushed  as  the  crimson  clover. 
"  Sig  !"  roared  a  voice  from  the  garden  walk, 
As  the  young  man  "  lit  "  with  a  buckeye  stalk, 
But  suddenly  slipped  in  the  misty  street 
And  the  house-dog  helped  himself  to  the  meat ! 

99 


GARFIELD. 

Bury  him  not  where  ambition  lies  dreaming" 

In  deep,  sordid  pomp,  or  the  mockery  of  strife ; 

Go  !    Bury  him  deep  where  the  wild  flowers  are  gleam 
ing 
In  all  the  sweet  fragrance  of  innocent  life  ! 

Bury  him  not  where  the  trailings  of  splendor 
Wave  gaudily  over  his  green,  narrow  bed, 

For  the  rustle  of  pride  would  only  engender 
An  echo  of  scorn  from  the  lips  of  the  dead  ! 

Bury  him  not  'neath  the  proud,  vaunting  marble — 
He  needs  not  its  sculpture  to  echo  his  name, 

For   the    rocks,   and    the    hills,   and    the    forest  bird's 

warble 
Will  roll  on  the  might  of  his  gathering  fame ! 


ETHNOLOGY.  —  WJ;  '>>/>  '  >' 

Some  love  to  study  Nature 

In  rock  and  hill  and  glen  ; 
I  'd  sooner  watch  her  gambols 

In  the  characters  of  men  ! 


;      ,  THE- INDIAN  CRISIS. 

To  Hon.    Lucius  Q.    C.   Lamar,    Secretary  of  Interior. 

Great  Judge  !     Thy  words  have  echoed  far 
Across  the  West,  to  where  the  slave 

Of  Freedom  wears  a  starry  scar, 

And  proves  his  prowess  as  a  "  brave  !  " 

The  "  crisis  "  of  his  hour  has  passed, — 

He  stands  the  center  of  a  cloud 
Whose  storming  lightnings  soon  shall  flash 

His  freedom — or  a  battle  shroud  ! 

None  plead  his  cause,  for  poor  his  purse ; 

Greed  shuts  its  ears  to  voice  of  tears. 
Oh  !  stay  the  flood-tide  of  his  curse, 

The  bitter  darkness  of  his  years ! 


A  BLIND  MAN'S  TRIUMPH. 

JUDGES  XVI. 

Hark  !  as  they  tramp  his  temple  court — 

For  flames  consume  the  sacrifice, 
And  orisons  of  priests  support 
Their  victim  to  the  skies ! 

Faith  and  prayer 

Wing  the  air, 

And  gloat  in  superstition  there ! 
Devotion's  mumblings  unappeased  ! 
Hark  !  to  the  music  in  the  breeze — 
A  nation's  curse  is  rolled  away, 
And  Dagon's  warriors  kneel  and  pray  ! 

Within  !     A  boisterous  song  rebounds, 

As  whirl  the  maids  of  dance  along, 
And  laughing  echo  flings  the  sound 
In  mirth  amid  the  drunken  throng — 
As  Samson  lies — 
The  fish-god's  prize — 
The  merry  scorn  of  taunting  eyes. 
Shorn  of  his  strength — his  noble  name 
The  idle  jest  of  empty  fame  ! 
And  Israel's  star  of  mighty  ray 
Hurled  from  its  orbit's  fiery  way  ! 

Anger  wore  a  knitted  frown, 
Curses  mingled  in  the  flood  ; 


IO4  A    BLIND    MAN'S   TRIUMPH. 

Satire  shot  his  arrows  down, 

Hatred  stirred  the  prophet's  blood — 
As  sons  of  scorn, 
With  malice  warm, 
Laughed  at  the  strength  of  his  great  arm  ! 

Samson  ! — Israel's  god  of  strength — 

Glory  of  the  Jewish  race  ! — 
Can  laughing  woman,  lo  !  at  length 
Crown  glory  with  disgrace  ? 
Muscle  of  clay, 
One  little  day 
Hath  proved  thee  weaker  far  than  they ! 

Jehovah,  hear  this  once  my  prayer — 
Avenge  these  sightless  eyes  ! 

O  mighty  One, 

Ere  Time  begun, 

Or  spheres  began  their  course  to  run 
The  eternity  of  space, 
The  Demon  was  displaced  ! 
And— shall  a  fish-god,  born  of  clay, 
Thus  spurn  Omnipotence  away  ? 

A  million  angels,  unseen  there, 
View  o'er  the  pomp  of  power, 
And,  hovering  in  the  murky  air, 
Scan  the  delusive  hour ! — 
As  on  swift  wing, 
The  passions  bring 

New  joys — which  make  the  jocund  ring 
Of  laughter  through  the  temple  roll ! 


A    BLIND    MAN'S    TRIUMPH.  IO5 

Far,  far  from  heaven  those  angels  fly  ! 

They  come!  and  walls  asunder  crack  ! 
Like  meteors  blazing  through  the  sky, 
The  porphyritic  pillars  snap  ! 
Hark  !     The  fall  !- 
God  and  all ! — 
Crushed  beneath  the  angry  wall  ! 

What,  Gaza's  god  a  child  of  fate  ? — 
The  light  of  empires  desolate  ? — 
Amid  a  chaos  of  mankind, 
A  blind  man  dim  his  solar  mind  ? 

Jehovah  !     Lord  !     Thy  sovereign  tread 
Levels  with  the  oblivious  dead 
Empires — and  as  witheringly 
Their  gods  of  immortality  ! 


THE  DA  WES  SIOUX  SEVERALTY  BILL. 

[The  National  Indian  Defense  Association  was  granted  a  hearing 
before  the  full  Indian  Committee  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  on 
the  7th  of  March,  1886,  on  the  bill  of  Senator  Dawes  to  reduce  the  Sioux 
Reservation;  which  bill  implies  the  unjust  annulling  of  the  sworn 
agreement,  contract,  and  treaty  of  the  U.  S.  Government  with  Red 
Cloud  in  1868.] 

Of  course,  "reduce  "  / — Ye  politicians,  paid 
To  hatch  the  eggs  which  Infamy  has  laid  ! 
Strip  the  great  Red  Cloud  to  his  naked  shirt, 
And  sell  his  carcass  for  the  price  of  dirt ! 
Oh  !  ye  are  great !  ye  legislators — all — 
Whose  common  sense  is  now  usurped  by  gall  ; 
Cursed  be  the  trade,  and  cursed  be  the  doom, 
Of  men  who  fling  o'er  man  a  darker  gloom  ; — 
Of  men  who  care  not  for  their  fellow-man, 
Except  to  rob  the  titles  of  his  land, 
"  Divide  a  portion"  of  his  treatied  whole 
And  claim  a  patent  on  his  blood  and  soul ! 
Hark,  in  your  ears  !     Ye  tools  of  rings  and  cliques, 
Whose  only  genius  is  born  of  tricks — 
I  know  ye  well ! — of  course  ye  would  make  known 
Relinquishment  of  lands  you  do  not  own  ! 
Of  course  !  of  course  ! — Committees  pay  you  well 
And  grease  the  foot-fall  to  your  proper  hell ; 
And  pass  their  resolutions,  and  combine 
To  throttle  freedom  with  a  new  State  line. 
But  know  ye  this !  ye  men  that  skulk  and  wait 
1 06 


THE    DAWES    SIOUX    SEVERALTY    BILL.  IO/ 

Within  the  lobbies  of  the  halls  of  State, 

And  by  your  State-greed  set  the  promised  "bounds" 

Of  "agencies  "  for  Sioux — as  if  for  hounds — 

Know  this  !     The  day  has  passed  when  men  can  tie 

The  soul  of  freedom  with  a  public  lie ! 

The  Sioux  are  men  !  and  manhood  still  has  rights 

Which  greedy  legislatures  dare  not  fight, 

Or  railroads  grind  beneath  their  monied  wheel, 

Or  prate  of  ''progress"  to  secure  a  steal ! 


I)R  T.    A.    BLAND, 
Secretary  of  the  National  Indian  Defense  Association. 

God  nerve  thy  arm  to  strike  a  blow 
For  Right  among  the  great  red-men  ; 

And  stem  the  greeds  that  ever  flow 
In  diplomatic  Washington  ! 

Thy  battles  are  the  wars  of  them 
Who  can  not  fight  with  verbal  skill, 

Or  steal  the  homes  of  other  men 
By  simply  pushing  fast — a  quill ! 

108 


INDIANS  IN  IRONS. 

On  tke  imprisonment  of  Deaf  Bull,    Crazy  Head,    Big 

Hailstone,  and  other  Indians,  at  Fort 

Snelling,  November,  iS8j. 

A  vaunt !  ye  men  who  would  make  slaves 

Of  those  who  nursed  the  New  World's  bride ; 

Ah  !   guard  them  well,  those  fellow  braves, 
Who  stemmed  the  battle's  bloody  tide  ! 

Guard  well  great  Deaf  Bull,  lest  his  hand 
Smite  through  the  bar  and  lay  thee  low  ; 

And  teach  thee  that  thy  lust  of  land 
Is  brutal  as  his  mighty  blow  ! 

Can  irons  chain  the  rights  of  men, 

Or  fetters  hold  the  soul  of  man  ? 
Nay  !     God  shall  turn  the  tide  again, 

And  every  right  be  saved  from  sham. 

Deep  curses  on  the  martial  head 

That  wreaks  its  vengeance  on  the  weak  ; 

To  crush,  with  foreign  bullet-lead, 

The  Sioux  that  right  and  freedom  seek ! 

Sword  Bearer's  body  brought  to  camp, 

And  ever  dumb  his  council  tongue  ? 
His  lips  all  bloody  where  the  tramp 

Of  Christian  bullets  bruised  and  stung  ? 

ItX 


IO  4  INDIANS    IN    IRONS. 

Ah  !  guard  them  well !     But  future  years 
Shall  scan  the  record  ye  have  made ; 

And  Justice  count  with  falling  tears 
The  drops  on  every  battle  blade ! 

Ah  !  guard  them  well !     There  's  Crazy  Head, 

Athletic,  as  his  soul  is  brave. 
Beware  !     His  ounce  of  honest  lead 

May  volley  o'er  thy  open  grave ! 

Ah  !  guard  them  well !     They  are  but  few, 
Yet  charged  you  to  the  jaws  of  hell ; 

As  mountain  lions,  rose  and  slew 

The  men  who  fought  with  shot  and  shell ! 

Ah !  guard  them  well,  and  wish  their  bones 
Were  rotting  under  moon  and  stars  ; 

So  honest  men  could  rob  the  homes 
Of  men  behind  those  prison-bars  ! 

Ah  !  guard  them  well !     They  are  the  last : 
We  chain  the  weak  and  loose  the  strong, 

And  fetter  Poverty  with  brass, 

And  chant  to  Wealth  a  lying  song ! 

Ah  !  guard  them  well !     But  by  the  cross, 
On  which  the  Starry  Martyr  hung, 

I  do  invoke  the  mighty  mass 

To  tell  the  shame  this  wrong  hath  done  ! 


GREAT  CHIEF  RED  CLOUD'S  LETTER. 

PINE  BLUFF  AGENCY,  DAKOTA,  Feb.  n,  '86. 

MY  FRIENDS  : — In  reply  to  your  last  letter  of  inquiry,  I  will  state 
that  I  am  not  in  favor  of  selling  any  portion  of  the  great  Sioux  Reser 
vation,  and  hope  that  the  entire  Sioux  Nation  will  unite  and  concur  in 
my  views.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  Great  Father  at  Washington 
would  forcibly 

TAKE   OUR    LAST    HOME    FROM    US. 

The  Sioux  Nation  should  hold,  at  an  early  day,  a  general  council, 
and  come  to  some  definite  understanding  in  regard  to  this  matter  before 
it  becomes  too  late  for  us  to  act  in  the  premises.  The  United  States 
should  survey  the  Sioux  Reservation,  and  ascertain  the  amount  of  land 
it  contains.  We  would  then  know  whether  we  could  afford  to  part  with 
any  portion  of  our  reservation  or  not,  as  much  of  it  is  waste  lands,  etc. 
We  chiefs  and  head  men  should  look  to  the  future  welfare  and  prosperity 
of  the  children  who  are  to  survive  us.  I  therefore  deem  it  unadvisable 
for  the  Sioux  Nation,  at  present,  to  sign  any  papers  whatever,  or  enter 
into  any  more  treaty  stipulations  with  the  United  States,  until  at  least  all 
back  claims  due  us  under  former  treaties  are  properly  adjusted. 

Your  friend,  RED  CLOUD. 

Take  thy  "  last  home"?     Great  Chief,  you  know  the 

past ; 

The  million  promises,  the  verbal  farce, 
The  mockery  of  treaty,  and  the  curse 
Of  men  but  waiting  but  to  do  their  worst ! 

Take  thy  "last  home"  ?     Where  thou  hast  viewed  the 

morn 

Walk  like  a  monarch  o'er  the  prairie's  lawn  ? 
Where  Industry  began  the  white  man's  toil, 
And  Manhood  labored  at  the  smoking  soil? 


112       GREAT  CH1KF  RED  CLOUDS  LKTTKR. 

Take   thy   il  last  home"?     Each  thundering  bluff  and 

pine, 

Where  lightnings  flash  upon  the  cheeks  of  Time, 
Where  Freedom  walks,  and  tempests  rave  and  roar 
Unbridled  oceans  on  some  planet  shore. 

Take  thy  "last  home"  f     And  yet  thou  art  a  man, 
The  orphan  of  a  State  whose  love  is  sham  ; 
A  pilgrim  through  the  troubled  ages  to  the  day 
When  love  shall  sing  a  world-wide  roundelay. 

Take  thy  "  last  home  "  /     Far  o'er  the  wavy  plain. 
Where  buffalo  leaped  through  the  slanting  rain, 
And  elk  lay  crouching,  with  a  sailor's  eye, 
In  copse — to  catch  the  sight  of  dangers  nigh  ? 

Take  thy  "  last  home"  /     The  hilltops  of  thy  name  ; 
Shoot  down  thy  eagles  from  their  skies  of  fame? 
Tear  down  thy  lodges,  blight  the  golden  scene, 
And  fling  athwart  the  land  another  mien  ? 

Take  thy  "  last  home  "  ?     Great  Chief,  the  evil 's  near, 
The  dark  oblivion  that  all  men  fear ; 
The  ruin  of  your  greatness,  and  a  doom 
To  which  the  mist  of  ages  is  a  tomb. 

Take  thy  ' '  last  home"  ?  Why  !   Rome  was  swept  away  : 
The  fierce  blood  of  her  freedom  in  a  day 
Sank  through  the  earth  as  in  a  shower, 
And  Liberty  was  wrecked  within  an  hour ! 

Take  thy  "  last  home  "  ?     If  nations  still  are  thieves  ; 
Their  monuments  are  but  as  withered  leaves  ; 


GREAT  CHIEF  RED  CLOUDS  LETTER.       113 

If  manhood's  ship  hath  sprung  a  fatal  leak, 

And  might  make  right,  and  hunger  starve  the  weak. 

Take  thy  "  last  home"  f     Red  Cloud,  they  'd  take  thy 

grave, 

Or  lash  thee  as  they  lashed  the  negro  slave  ; 
They  'd  sell  thy  bones,  or  bind  thee  with  a  chain, 
Or  feed  thee  to  their  dogs,  for pelfish  gain. 


THE  SIOUX  SEVERALTY  BILL. 

TO    PRESIDENT    CLEVELAND. 

Cleveland !  the  Nation's  eyes  are  turned  on  thee, 
Thou  guardian  of  the  new  world's  liberty  ! 
Leave  to  a  race — who  gave  the  land  we  own — 
The  common  gratitude  of  hearth  and  throne ! 

Far  in  the  roll  of  ages  all  men  gage 
The  moral  act — the  greater  of  the  sage  ! 
Thrones  are  but  dust — beneath  the  diadem 
The  justful  praise  of  other  honest  men  ! 

Our  Presidents  ! — their  names  are  but  recalled 
By  good  things  they  have  done — that  re-install, 
With  monuments  of  an  unequal  strife 
Within  the  nation's  breast,  their  worth  and  life! 

When  thou  art  throneless,  and  thy  party  fate 
Become  a  thing  re-scribbled  on  a  school-boy's   slate, 
A  deed  for  those  who  have  no  father — friend — 
Would  prove  a  triumph  in  the  bitter  end ! 

« 

The  bill  is  not  erased — although  the  glow 
Of  empire  flash  and  overflow 
That  gray,  cold  hour  when  thou  must  all  resign, 
And   leave  thy  laurels  in  the  halls  of  Time  ! 

"4 


THE    SIOUX    SEVERALTY    BILL. 


Thy  day  will  pass  !  —  Earth  hide  thee  with  her  clay, 
And  starless  nights  brood  over  thy  decay  ; 
And  thou  must  sleep  with  Sioux,  and  Sioux  \vith  thee, 
In  the  last  dream  of  human  mystery  ! 


REPLY  TO  MAHPEALUTAH,   RED  CLOUD. 

PINE  RIDGE  AGENCY,  DAKOTA,  > 
PINE  RIDGE,  Nov.  29,  1887.      / 

GAY  WATERS  : — I  received  your  paper,*  and  was  glad  to  get  it. 
It  made  my  heart  good.  I  will  be  in  Washington  about  January  1st,  if 
nothing  happens.  I  will  be  glad  to  meet  you  there.  I  would  be  glad 
to  have  one  of  the  books  you  are  now  getting  up.  I  am  well  pleased 
with  my  new  agent.  He  is  a  good  man.  I  now  shake  hands  with  you. 
Hoping  to  see  you  in  Washington,  I  am  w 

Your  friend,  CHIEF  RED  CLOUD. 

Thy  gentle  words,  Red  Cloud,  expressive  in  their  ease, 
So  kind  and  gentle  in  attempt  to  please, 
Wring  from  my  heart  its  tears ;  But  then  I  trace 
No  blush  of  shame  upon  the  Nation's  face ! 

Thanks  for  thy  note.     Others  may  chant  in  song 
America's  great  Right — I  sing  of  Wrong, 
As  darts  the  angry  pen,  and  leap  the  words  of  blame 
Along  the  glossy  page,  and  I  brood  o'er  thy  name. 

I  watch  thee,  Red  Cloud.     Chuckle  and  the  prey 
Of  whites,  whose  plotting  infamy  means  pay 
Of  land — Dakota's  rended  State — 
To  serve  the  purposes  of  greed  and  hate ! 

Ah ! — the  wide  world  hath  many  a  weary  heart, 
Whose  meat  and  drink  at  sunset  is  the  dark, 
Dark  memories  of  unrequited  wrong, 
The  cold,  gray  moaning  of  a  vesper  song. 

*  Christian  Standard, 


REPLY    TO    MAHPEALUTAH,     RED    CLOUD.  I  I/ 

Brave  out  the  plot !     Thy  great  expiring  race 
May  teach  the  world  a  lesson  it  can  trace ; 
Man,  through  his  vast,  unnumbered  years, 
Is  yet  the  tyrant  of  his  hopes  and  fears. 

Red  Cloud !     Around  thy  name — flash  battles  won  ; 
The  scream  of  mountain  eagles  near  the  sun, 
The  thunder's  voice  ;   and  forests  gemmed  with  stars, 
Flash  through  the  memory's  prison  bars ! 


AIMEE. 

"  Poor  Aimee,  who  had  so  much  jolly  fun  in  her  life,  and  had  kept 
so  many  audiences  on  the  jump  through  long  performances,  died  almost 
alone  at  a  private  house  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris,  whither  she  had  gone 
to  have  a  surgical  operation  performed." — Boston  Leader. 

Poor  song  bird  !  thy  little  life  is  done 
And  others  roar  the  plaudits  thou  hast  won  ; 
October  rolls  her  sad  winds  through  the  trees 
And  dim  mists  dampen  o'er  her  dying  leaves  ; 
No  ear  shall  catch  thy  throbbing  roundelay — 
Thy  song  is  o'er,  fair  minstrel  of  the  gay ! 
The  men  that  laughed  have  let  thee  die  in  pain, 
And  "  pretty  as  a  picture  "  is  thy  fame  ! 

Poor  singing  bird  !     There  shines  a  light  ! 

Poor  singing  bird  !     Good-night !  Good-night ! 

Poor  song  bird !     I  have  heard  thee  trill 

Thy  roundelay  till  eyes  did  fill, 

And  hearts  welled  tears  of  hidden  joy 

That  bubbled  from  the  souls  unknown  alloy ! 

And  now  thy  lips  are  dumb  of  song  and  cold 

As  frozen  years — or  things  that  fold 

Their  hands  across  the  flowered  lappel  of  life, 

And  sleep  in  solitude  above  its  strife. 

Poor  singing  bird  !     There  shines  a  light ! 

Poor  singing  bird  !     Good-night !  Good-night ! 


AIMEE.  119 

Poor  song  bird  !     How  the  shadows  creep 

Above  the  unknown  grave  where  thou  dost  sleep  ;  — 

As  on  the  great  world  roars  without  a  care 

Of  one  whose  fair  notes  thrilled  the  city  air ! 

I  have  not  yet  forgot — forgot  thy  song 

That  echoed  like  the  woodland's  voice  along 

The  dark  curse,  and  the  fierce  world's  fevered  moan — 

To  cheer  the  hearts  that  love  best  when  alone  ! 

Poor  singing  bird  !     There  shines  a  light  ! 

Poor  singing  bird  !     Good-night !   Good-night ! 


SIOUX  WAR  SONG. 

Sioux  of  the  plains,  revoke  ! — 

They  trample  on  our  claims — 
Sioux,  prove  by  sword  and  stroke 
Ye  are  not  made  for  chains ! 
CHORUS. — Sioux  of  Brule  and  Yankton  band  ! 
Sioux  of  Ogalalla  band  ! 
Up  and  at  the  greedy  foe ! 
Smite  them  backward,  blow  by  blow ! 

Adieu  !  ye  promised  treaties  ! 
Adieu  !  the  tyrant's  yoke  ! 
Strike  for  our  homes  and  country 

Through  battle,  blood  and  smoke  ! 
Oh  !  aid  us  in  our  freedom, 

Ye  chiefs  whose  spirits  soar ; 
Drive  back  the  curse  of  kingdoms, 
And  bring  liberty  once  more ! 
CHORUS. — Sioux  of  Brule  and  Yankton  band  ! 
Sioux  of  Ogalalla  band  ! 
Up  and  at  the  greedy  foe ! 
Smite  them  backward,  blow  by  blow  ! 


SIOUX  MELODIES. 

NARPUJA. 

(Heaven.) 

Beyond  where  tempests'  gleaming  sword 
Cuts  through  and  slays  the  prairie  oak ; 

Beyond  where  cyclones  smite  the  horde, 
Or  kill  a  city  with  a  stroke  ! 

Beyond  !  beyond  the  forest's  brink, 

Or  Rocky  Mountain  eagle's  nest — 
Away !  beyond  where  sunsets  sink, 

The  great  Sioux  has  a  teepe  of  rest ! 

WONJOKISICA. 
(Sorrow. ) 

Oh,  ye  vast  plains !  where  we  have  roamed  at  will- 
Dakota  ! — Minnesota ! — and  the  hills 
That  rib  the  great  ridge  of  this  Western  World, 
Why  are  ye  melting  like  the  clouds  that  furl  ? 

Stay  !  stay  !  ye  were  our  homes  ?     Forsake  us  not ! 
We  love  thee  as  the  seas  their  native  rock  ! 
Thy  withered  leaves — thy  prairie  voice  can  calm 
Our  spirits  more  than  all  this  modern  charm  ! 

To  wander  on  and  on — tossed  by  the  wrath 
Of  other  civilizations  o'er  our  path — 


122  SIOUX    MELODIES. 

Our  eagles  disappearing  from  their  sky, 

The  Sioux  no  country — and  crushed  out  to  die  ! 

WASTEDAKA. 

(Love.) 

Her  eyes  were  dove-like,  and  her  voice 
A  singing  bird's  ! — a  harp  of  joy  ! 

I  listened,  till  my  heart  rejoiced 
And  leaped  within,  at  one  so  coy  ! 

Then  in  her  blush  I  read  her  choice — 
'  T  was  me,  the  Ogallala  boy ! 

I  sat  beside  her  father's  teepe, 

And  gazed  upon  her  pouting  lips, 

And  wondered  if  she  'd  ever  seek 
To  kiss  me  with  those  crimson  tips ! 

Till,  oh  !  she  looked  as  pure  and  sweet 
As  flowers  abud  the  prairie's  cheek  ! 

I  brought  ten  ponies  to  the  chief, 
Her  father,  and  I  tied  them  there  ; 

And  we  were  married  by  his  leave — 

And  Love  knew  naught  of  anxious  Care, 

And  Joy  was  ignorant  of  Grief, 
And  Happiness  was  everywhere  ! 

ouo  WAN. 
(The  Poet.) 

He  sang  1     The  four  winds  stayed  their  flight, 
And  paused  to  hear  his  mighty  rhyme ; 


SIOUX    MELODIES.  123 

And  spirits  through  the  moaning  night 

Re-sang  aloud  his  solemn  line  ! 
The  buffalo  grew  tame,  and  stood 

Listening  through  the  shadowed  wood  ! 

WAWAN,     BA-JAN. 

(Sioux  Gift  Song  and  Pipe  Dance.) 

Leader. 

Hark  !     The  drum  taps  !     Pull  off  the  moccasin, 
The  earth  is  holy — it  must  know  no  sin  ! — 
See  ! — kinnikinick  !     The  Hin-zpe-tha-bthin 
Wa-ha-ba ! — In-gthan-ga-ha  I-ha-the-wa-an, 
Faint  a  red  circle  on  each  breast,  and  let  the  dance  begin ; 
The  pipes  shall  pass  and  gifts  shall  crown  the  day, 
And  buffalo  robes  for  horses  be  our  pay  ! 

First  VI  arrior, 

When  a  pipe  like  this  was  brought  to  me,  I  gave  : 

Three  horses ! 

Second  Warrior. 
Roll  up  the  round  corn  sticks,   and  dance  about  the 

fire  ;  I  give  : 

Four  horses  ! 

Third  Warrior. 

Move  as  with  eagles'  wings — advance — return,  I  give  : 

Five  horses ! 

Fourth  Warrior. 

Sway  the  pipes  and  sound  the  drum  as  I  now  give  : 

Six  horses  ! 


124  SIOUX    MELODIES. 

Fifth  Warrior. 

The  challenge  pipe  is  moving  on,  as  now  I  give  : 

Seven  horses ! 

Sixth  Warrior. 

When  a  pipe  like  that  was  brought  to  me,  I  gave  : 

Eight  horses  ! 

And  now  our  eagle  wings  are  stretched,  I  dance  and 
give: 

Nine  horses ! 
Count  the  horses  on  the  pipe,  for  now  I  give  : 

Ten  horses ! 
Keep  up  the  dance  on  each  side  of  the  fire,  as  I  give : 

Twenty  horses ! 
Sing  the  first  and  second  part,  as  I  now  give : 

Thirty  horses  ! 
Now  all  advance,  return  as  in  a  double  line : 

Forty  horses ! 
As  I  exceed  you  all,  I  take  the  pipe  again  : 

Fifty  horses! 

THE    EAGLE   WAR    BONNET. 

Wicota's  war  bonnet  was  found  in  the  grass, 

Heya !  Heya ! 
And  his  totem  lost  near  the  great  elk  pass  ; 

Heya !  Heya  ! 
And  his  challenge  pipe  'neath  the  boughs  of  the  wood, 

Heya  !  Heya  ! 
And  his  war  knife  hid  where  the  buffalo  stood. 

Heya  !     Heya  ! 


SIOUX    MELODIES.  125 

Wicota  was  filled  with  minni-wakan  ;  * 

Heya  !  Heya  ! 
He  slept,  and  he  woke,  and  the  ska  f  man  ran. 

Heya  !  Heya  ! 
Beware  !  Beware  of  the  ska  man's  rum, 

Heya  !  Heya ! 
For  the  ska  man  stole  his  pony  and  gun. 

Heya  !     Heya  ! 

WIKOSKA. 

(The  Sioux  Maid.) 

Thy  glance,  like  the  sunlight  that  pierces  the  shade, 
As  it  gleams  through  the  morning  in  crimson  and 
gold, 

Can  brighten  a  heart  where  the  shadows  have  laid, 
And  whisper  a  love  which  is  still  uncontrolled  ! 

At  night  comes  a  vision  of  forests  and  bars, 

A  sweet  light  shines  down  through  the  cloud-parted 

eaves ; 

And  I  fancy  the  round  moon  is  lighting  her  stars, 
But  'tis  thy  face  that  shines  down  through  the  leaves  ' 

The  big  chief  that  eats  of  the  cherries  and  links  ; 

The  warriors,  and  eyes  of  the  Great  of  the  Nook, 
All  follow  you  now,  as  the  fawn  that  doth  drink 

In  the  cool  of  the  eve  from  the  lip  of  the  brook  ! 

But  old  priests  have  told  me  that  evil  will  'tide 
To  the  heart,  if,  like  oak-leaves,  its  promises  fall ; 


*  Whiskey. 
t  White  man. 


126  SIOUX    MELODIES. 

And  that  maids  of  the  buffalo  scatter  and  hide, 
If  the  four  winds  refuse  to  obey  at  their  call ! 

IYAKIPAPAFI. 

(Sioux  War  Whoop.) 

Ska*  men,  surrender  ! 

Or  leave  us  our  homes ! 
We  ask  no  defender 

A  teepe  or  a  throne  ! 

Now  yield  to  the  right, 
As  the  treaty  doth  call, 

Ere  warriors  fight 
And  warriors  fall ! 

We  have  given  thee  land, 
Where  the  crimson  of  day 

Hath  flashed  on  thy  strand, 
And  re-gilded  thy  clay  ! 

Scalps  of  thy  freemen, 
All  bloody  with  life  ! 

Ska  men  and  demons, 
Beware  of  our  knife  ! 

WOKIYAPI    CANDUHUPA. 

(The  Peace  Pipe.) 

Ah  !  the  treaty  begun 
Doth  show  us  its  hand — 

Ska  *  men  from  rising  sun 
Call  for  our  land  ! 

*  Americans. 


SIOUX    MELODIES.  I2/ 

Peace  pipe  of  the  prairies, 

Covered  o'er  with  dust, 
Can  forget  unfairness 

In  a  promise  trust. 

Sway  the  pipe,  and  ask  them 

If  they  will  be  men — 
True  to  God  and  promise — 

True  to  word  and  pen  ! 


THE  DAWES  SIOUX  BILL. 


The  National  Indian  Defense  Association, 

Believing  that  the  act  which  hasjjust  become  a  law,  and  which  author 
izes  the  President  to  allot  lands  of  Indian  tribes  to  individual  Indians 
without  the  consent  of  the  tribes,  and  even  against  their  protest,  '^uncon 
stitutional  as  well  as  unjust  and  despotic,  and  that  if  it  is  allowed  to  stand 
and  be  enforced,  the  Indian  will  be  despoiled  of  the  bulk  of  their  best 
lands,  and  deprived  from  the  protection  of  their  tribal  governments  and 
of  their  tribal  rights  at  once,  and  that  soon  after  the  lands  allotted  shall 
have  become  alienable,  the  majoritv  of  the  Indians  will  be  induced  to  part 
with  the  small  tracts  which  have  been  issued  to  them  ;  and,  in  the  language 
of  Senator  Dolph,  of  Oregon,  in  respect  to  this  bill,  "  We  shall  have  a 
quarter  of  a  million  Indians  thrown  upon  the  country  as  paupers  to  be  sup  • 
ported  by  appropriations  from  the  public  treasury"  is  resolved  to  defend 
the  Indians  in  the  rights  guaranteed  to  them  under  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States.  We  do  not  believe  that  Congress  would  appropriate  money 
for  the  support  of  the  Indians  after  they  had  lost  all  tribal  organizations 
and  treaty  rights  as  tribes  and  become  citizens  of  the  United  States,  and 
of  the  various  States  and  Territories.  They  would  have  no  more  con 
sideration  from  the  Government  than  other  citizens.  Should  they  be 
come  tramps,  or  paupers,  they  would  be  treated  no  better  than  other  tramps 
and  paupers.  Believing  that  the  practical  and  general  enforcement  of 
this  severalty  bill  would  result  as  stated  above,  we  are  resolved  to  do  all 
in  our  power  to  prevent  its  being  applied  to  the  various  Indian  tribes. 

On  the  first  Monday  of  December,  a  new  Congress  will  convene. 
It  is  our  purpose  to  ask  this  new  Congress  to  repeal  the  objectionable  fea 
tures  of  the  law. 

In  the  meantime  it  is  our  purpose  to  keep  vigilant  watch,  and  if 
any  attempt  should  be  made  by  the  Government  to  take  the  land  of  any 
tribe  of  Indians  from  the  tribe,  under  the  provisions  of  this  act,  with' 
out  the  consent  of  the  tribe,  then,  in  that  case,  the  Association  will  tender 
the  services  of  its  attorney  to  such  tribe,  and,  if  his  services  shall  be 
accepted,  an  effort  will  be  made  to  secure  a  decision  as  to  the  constitu 
tionality  of  the  act  from  the  Supreme  Court  of  th?  United  States. 
I28 


THE    DAWES   SIOUX    BILL.  I  2g 

We  believe  that  the  United  States  courts  would  afford  the  Indians 
protection  against  the  provisions  of  this  act,  and  we  believe  that  if  it 
come  before  the  Supreme  Coifrt  of  the  United  States  for  a  decision, 
that  tribunal  would  pronounce  this  act  unconstitutional  and  void.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  in  1879  Chief  Standing  Bear,  of  the  Ponca 
tribe  of  Indians,  appealed  successfully  to  the  United  States  Court  against 
the  injustice  and  tyranny  of  the  Executive  Department  of  the  Govern 
ment.  This  precedent,  and  numerus  decisions  of  the  United  States 
courts,  in  cases  involving  rights  of  Indians,  give  us  reason  to  hope  and 
believe  that  if  we  should  be  obliged  to  appeal  to  the  courts  against  the 
enforcements  of  this  unjust  and  despotic  act  of  Congress,  the  appeal 
would  be  successful. 

We  therefore  ask  all  who  desire  that  the  Indians  be  defended  and 
protected  in  their  rights,  to  sustain  as  with  their  influence  and  their 
means. 

BYRON  SUNDERLAND,  President. 

ALEX.  KENT,  Vice-President. 

WM.  M.  KING,  Secretary. 

Away !  Athwart  the  foam  the  Mayflower  rides, 
And  civilization  breasts  the  New  World's  tides ; 
Her  keel  grates  loudly  on  the  New-found  shore, 
The  moral  of  an  age  that  lived  before. 

Our  pilgrims  kneel  before  the  Plymouth  Rock, 
And  covenant  with  God  to  stand  the  shock ; 
Then  rise  from  off  their  knees,  and  grasp  the  hand- 
Of  Friendship's  welcome  to  his  native  land. 

As  Commerce  leaped  the  plank,  and  sought  the  new 
found  shore, 

And  War  suppressed  the  brutal  cannon's  roar  ; 
And  patriots,  leaving  Tyranny  behind, 
Proclaimed  the  liberty  of  limb  and  mind. 

Greed  from  the  hatchways  paused  with  eager  eyes, 
Theft  from  the  rigging  watched  the  chances  fly ; 


130  THE    DAWES    SIOUX    BILL. 

Ambition  blew  his  trumpet-note  in  air, 
Hypocrisy  knelt  low  in  mumbled  prayer. 

My  God !     New  cabins  rise  upon  the  shore, 
Bones  of  two  races  crimsoned  o'er  with  gore  ! 
A  sword  hath  laid  the  sons  of  friendship  low, 
And  fought  back  love  and  justice  blow  for  blow. 

Two  hundred  thousand  of  these  men  now  wronged, 
Chained  to  a  curse — a  hundred  years  prolonged ! 
America !     Thy  hand  hath  shed  more  blood 
Than  history  can  mingle  in  her  flood ! 

Now  spoilers  pour  from  every  land  and  sea, 
New  emigrants  from  vanished  liberty, 
And  on  the  land  of  redmen  build  their  homes, 
Where  Plenty  feeds  the  Chippewa  with  bones. 

And  is  this  Progress  ?  that  across  the  land 
Walks  so  triumphant  with  her  clenched  hand? 
That  builds  new  cities  out  of  human  tears, 
And  wrecks  humanity  with  all  its  fears? 

A. progress  scattering,  'mid  oaths  ane  dust, 

The  sweetest  hopes  humanity  can  trust  ? 

O  God !  weigh  thou  this  progress  in  thy  mighty  scales, 

And  tell  the  centuries  the  bloody  tales. 

Tell !  tell !  the  wrongs  of  years !    Retell  to  coming  man, 
In  terms  precise,  the  infamy,  the  sham, 
Of  all  that  rears  its  soaring  wealth  and  homes 
Above  tivo  hundred  thousand  red  men's  bones  / 


POOR  YET  RICH. 

All  money  gone  !     Ha  !  ha  !     Poor  pocket-book, 
As  dry  and  shriveled  as  a  spinster's  look  ! 
Yet  Love  is  left ! — the  sweet,  responsive  eye, 
The  heart  that  beats,  those  lips  that  laugh  and  cry 
The  rounded  breast,  the  arm  that  doth  enfold 
The  joys  of  youth  within  its  dream  of  gold  ; 
Thy  summer  voice,  the  velvet  diadem 
Of  honored  passion,  and  the  songs  of  men  ! 


THE  SIOUX  CHILD'S  FUNERAL. 

"  What  doest  thou  within  the  tribe? 
Beware  the  scalp-man's  wrath!" 
It  was  an  old  man  of  the  tribe, 
Athwart  the  forest  path. 

"  A  meeting  at  the  Great  Ghost  tent 

Was  hailed  without  delay  ; 
The  little  deeds  the  dead  hath  lent 
Have  been  proclaimed  to-day  ! 

"  A  warrior's  child  hath  died,"  he  said  ; 

"  We  smoked  the  Shadow-pipe, 
And  cut  the  front  lock  of  its  hair 
And  gave  the  warrior's  wife. 

1 '  She  wrapped  it  in  a  red,  red  cloth, 

And  kissed  it  undisturbed  ; 
And  we  sat  there  and  thought  of  prayer, 
But  uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Then  buried  deep  above  an  hill, 

Above  the  forest  tramp, 
Two  yards  of  red  cloth  in  one  part — 
A  prayer  for  the  camp  ! 

"  Next  lifted  up,  with  priestly  hands, 

To  our  great  buffalo, 

132 


THE  sioux  CHILD'S  FUNERAL.  133 

Two  yards  of  red  cloth  in  one  part — 
An  offering  for  our  woe. 

' '  We  placed  the  child  within  an  hide  ; 

Its  soul  was  lingering  near, 

And,  like  a  shadow,  followed  us 

And  stood  beside  the  bier ! 

"  An  offering  to  Nature's  God — 

The  body  of  our  dead  ; — 

And  then  a  resurrection  sun 

Was  painted  on  its  head  ! 

"  In  its  best  clothes  it  lay  there — cold 

As  drift  of  winter's  snow  ; 
We  heard  along  the  forest  aisles 
Its  young  voice  come  and  go. 

' '  We  did  not  lay  it  in  the  ground 

Amid  the  clammy  clay, 
But  lifted  it  where  stars  bend  down 
To  kiss  the  lips  of  day ! 

' '  Within  the  arms  of  mighty  oak 

We  tied  it  to  a  limb  ; 
We  fancied'it  would  like  to  hear 
The  wood-birds'  summer  hymn  /' ' 


TAKU  WAKAN  WOKANZE. 

(FATE.) 

Fierce  with  the  tempests  of  unnumbered  years, 
Fate's  ocean  rolls  !     Joys,  sorrows,  reappear  ; 
With  passions  uncontrolled  and  hints  of  shores 
Unpeopled  by  a  populace  of  bores. 
As  heaven  whirls  its  dread — astrology — 
And  hurls  immortals  through  the  mystery — 
On  !  on  !  it  rolls  !     Far  'neath  the  sky  of  Time, 
Dashing  its  sea-thoughts  in  the  poet's  rhyme. 

Ah !  wonder  if  the  majesty  of  mind 

Shall  soar  the  clouds  of  all  this  arch  of  Time  ? 

Alas  !     Out !  out ! — from  out  the  vanished  years 

Still  moan  the  griefs  of  man's  unpitied  fears. 

And  great  minds  think  but  to  the  grave — the  curse 

And  passing  menace  of  the  universe. 

Man  still  the  captive  of  his  shroud — a  day — 

The  sunbeam  of  an  hour — a  quick  decay! 


CHEYENNE  SCHOOL-DAYS. 

[It  is  common  for  Indian  girls  to  choose  Christian  names  of  their 
own,  while  retaining  their  fathers'  names,  for  the  sake  of  family  distinc 
tion.  The  grotesque  combination  is  illustrative  of  the  transition  state 
of  the  families.] 

As  echoes  from  the  thunder-clouds 

Re-tell  the  playsome  rain, 
Hattie  Lone  Wolf's  laughter  brings 

Those  school-hours  back  again  ! 

As  white  stars  on  the  threshing-floors 

Of  prairies  in  the  night, 
Alice  Lone  Bear's  lips  disclose 

Her  teeth— a  flash  of  light ! 

As  evening,  with  a  thornless  rose, 

Her  native  smile  of  earth, 
Gertrude  White  Cloud's  warbled  song 

Still  dimples  with  its  mirth  ! 

Ha  !     Katy  White  Bird's  raven  tress 

Still  flowing  as  the  morn 
Above  the  prairie's  wilderness, 

Before  the  noon  is  born  ! 

And  one  is  not — I  will  not  name — 

The  rose  is  scattered  now — 
Remember  not  her  hour  of  shame — 

The  dark  cloud  on  her  brow ! 

135 


TWO  CENTURIES  OF  WOE. 

The  first  preacher  to  the  Indians  of  America  was  Rev.  John  Elliot, 
an  Englishman  (Episcopal),  born  in  Essex,  England,  who  began  preach 
ing  for  the  Indians  at  40  years  of  age,  October  28,  1646.  He  formed 
the  first  Indian  church  in  America  at  Natick ;  began  translating  the 
Scriptures,  and  in  1661  the  New  Testament  was  printed.  Two  hun 
dred  copies,  bound  in  leather,  were  prepared  for  the  immediate  use  of 
the  Indians  of  the  Atlantic  sea-board,  in  1673,  at  which  time  six  Indian 
churches  had  been  formed.  The  following  is  given  as  the  number  of 
praying  (Christian)  Indians,  by  Judge  Davis,  in  a  note  to  Morton's 
Memorial,  1674: 

In  Massachusetts,  under  the  preaching  of  Rev.  John  Elliot.  1,100 

In  Plymouth  colony,  under  the  preaching  of  Rev.  Burns. . .  530 

On  Nantucket 300 

Martha's  Vineyard 1 , 500 

Total 3,400 

In  King  Philip's  (Indian)  War,  the.-e  3,400  Indians  were  made  pris 
oners,  and  for  years  afterwards  were  held  as  such.  King  Philip's  wife 
and  son  (Indians)  were  sold  as  slaves  in  the  West  Indies.  A  number 
were  sent  to  be  sold  elsewhere,  but  found  no  purchasers,  and  were  left 
at  Tangiers,  Africa.  —  [Facts  gathered  as  scribbled  on  the  fly-leaf  of  an  old 
Sioux  Missionary's  Santee  Vocabulary.^ 

The  Secretary  of  the  American  Interior,  Hon.  Lamar,  says  in  his 

RKPORT  OF  DECEMBER,  1887, 

"The  statistics  compiled  from  the  annual  reports  of  the  various 
United  States  Indian  agents  to  the  Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs,  rep 
resent  that  of  the  remaining  173,600  Indians  under  their  supervision, 
about  fifty-eight  thousand  wear  citizens'  clothes  wholly  ;  that  16,477 
houses  are  occupied  by  them ;  that  about  twenty-five  thousand  can 
speak  English  with  sufficient  intelligence  for  ordinary  conversation ; 
that  more  than  ten  thousand  five  hundred  of  their  children  are  in 

schools  receiving  educational  and  industrial  training,  for  whom  237 
136 


TWO    CENTURIES   OF   WOE.  137 

schools  are  in  operation,  and  that  over  31,000  families  are  engaged  in 
industrial  pursuits.  They  have  cultivated  over  238,000  acres,  built  over 
295,000  rods  of  fencing,  produced  over  750,000  bushels  of  wheat,  950,- 
ooo  bushels  of  corn,  402,000  bushels  of  oats,  68,000  bushels  of  barley 
and  rye,  514,000  bushels  of  vegetables,  and  83,000  pounds  of  butter. 
Besides  the  above,  they  have  gathered  for  use  and  sale  considerable 
quantities  of  wild  rice,  berries,  herbs,  furs,  fish,  and  snake  root,  etc. 
They  have  sawed  1,552,079  feet  of  lumber,  cut  74,000  cords  of  wood 
and  102,000  tons  of  hay.  They  own  over  392,000  horses,  3,000  mules, 
113,000  cattle,  46,000  swine,  and  1,120,000  sheep.  Droughts  have 
seriously  affected  the  yield  of  their  crops  the  past  year.  While  these 
results  are  generally  gratifying,  they  fall  far  short  of  guaranteeing  an 
early  consummation  of  our  policy  of  a  complete  Indian  civilization. 
And  I  can  only  reiterate  the  conviction  expressed  in  former  reports, 
that  the  Indian  race  has  reached  a  crisis  in  its  history.  Surrounded  on 
all  sides  by  the  forces  of  civilization ;  all  the  reservations  closed  in  and 
pressed  upon  by  ever-increasing  masses  of  population,  made  up  of  im 
petuous,  daring  and  aggressive  settlers,  miners,  ranchmen  and  traders ; 
with  no  possibility  of  removal  to  other  reservations  or  of  escape  into 
mountain  fastnesses,  the  only  alternative  presented  to  the  Indian  race 
is  absolute  extinction  or  a  quick  entrance  into  the  pale  of  American 
civilization." 

Two  hundred  years  ! — and  still  the  curse  rolls  on — 

The  thirst  for  land — the  blasphemy  of  right  ; 
The  slavery  of  freedom  and  the  wrong 

That  rolls  discordant  through  these  years  of  night. 
Years  !  years !  of  bloodshed,  slavery  and  crime, 
Unknown  before  in  all  the  woes  of  time — 
Till  the  heart,  dry  to  its  inner  core 
And  love  the  bitterness  it  loathed  before ; — 
Crushing  the  passions  of  the  better  man 
And  counts  his  promises — a  lying  sham  ! 
We  have  been  slaves  for  full  two  hundred  years, 
And  drenched  a  continent  with  blood  and  tears  ; 
Besought,  entreated,  treaties  signed  in  vain, 
And  crouched  like  beasts  beneath  the  load  of  pain. 


138  TWO   CENTURIES   OF    WOE. 

Ah  !     Tell  us  not  of  progress — that  demands 
The  mourning  of  a  race,  the  curse  of  man, 
The  lowering  of  self-hood  and  the  truth — 
A  dungeon  curse  for  age  and  playful  youth  ! 
Steam  cannot  buy  the  grandeur  of  a  soul, 
And  man  is  man  vvhate'er  the  ages  roll ; 
Electric  lights  may  daze  a  world  with  awe, 
Yet  man  be  morally  without  a  law  ! 
A  tyrant  to  the  grave,  and  just  as  mean — 
A  dog  at  heart — an  angel  in  his  mien  ! 
A  polished  pimp — the  idiot  of  a  pen — 
The  perjured  instrument  of  other  men  ! 


LIFE  OF  RED  CLOUD. 

Mah-peah-Lutah  (Red  Cloud)  is  a  fullblooded  Dakota 
or  Sioux  Indian.  He  was  born  near  the  present  site  of 
Fort  Laramie,  about  1824.  His  father,  whose  name 
he  bears,  was  head  chief  of  the  Ogalala  tribe  of  the 
Dakota  Confederacy  or  Nation,  comprising-  seven 
tribes.  Red  Cloud  being  a  younger  son,  his  older 
brother  was  heir  apparent  to  the  chieftainship  ;  but  on 
the  death  of  the  father  the  older  brother,  whose  name 
we  have  been  unable  to  get,  declined  the  office  in  favor 
of  Red  Cloud,  on  the  ground  of  his  superior  talents 
and  general  fitness  for  the  position.  The  matter  was 
laid  before  the  Council,  and,  after  discussion,  Red 
Cloud  was  accepted  as  the  successor  of  his  father.  He 
was  then  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  had  already 
distinguished  himself  by  his  speeches  in  Council. 
The  Dakotas  was  then  a  great  nation,  owning  a  vast 
empire,  including  what  is  now  Dakota  and  Wyoming 
and  a  good  portion  of  Minnesota ;  indeed,  Minnesota  is 
a  Dakota  word  meaning  Land  of  Lakes. 

The  Sioux  war  of  1862  was  confined  to  Minnesota. 
That  involved  only  one  tribe — the  Santee  Sioux.  The 
great  Sioux  War  of  '64-67  between  the  tribes  of  Da 
kota  and  Wyoming,  served  to  bring  Red  Cloud  to 
public  notice  in  a  pronounced  way.  At  all  Councils 
between  the  representatives  of  the  United  States  and 
the  Sioux  Nation,  Red  Cloud  represented  his  tribe. 
Many  of  his  young  men  were  in  the  Sioux  army  for 


139 


I4O  LIFE    OF    RED    CLOUD. 

years,  however,  before  he  took  active  command.  He 
desired  peace,  and  until  the  winter  of  i866-'67  he  did 
not  lose  hope  of  securing  a  treaty  of  peace  which 
would  be  in  a  measure  just  to  his  people.  But  in  a 
council  at  Fort  Laramie,  held  December,  1866,  or 
January,  1867,  his  ultimatum  was  finally  rejected  by  the 
United  States  Commissioners,  and  Red  Cloud  at  once 
took  chief  command  of  his  forces  and  made  a  most 
vigorous  campaign.  Before  leaving  the  Council  he 
said:  <(I  have  done  all  that  I  could  to  stop  this  war,  but 
I  am  now  convinced  that  you  do  not  want  peace  on  just 
terms  ;  henceforth  I  shall  rely  upon  the  Great  Spirit, 
and  my  trusty  rifle."  About  a  year  after  he  made  that 
speech  Red  Cloud  was  invited  to  another  Council  with  a 
commission  of  which  General  Sherman  was  chairman, 
and  he  was  offered  terms  in  perfect  accord  with  his  ul 
timatum  ot  a  year  before.  He  signed  this  treaty 
(known  as  the  treaty  of  1868,  because  ratified  in  that 
year),  and  he  has  kept  it  in  letter  and  spirit  faithfully 
to  this  day.  But  we  regret  to  be  obliged,  as  a  just  his. 
torian,  to  say  that  the  United  States-  has  but  very  par 
tially  fulfilled  its  part  of  that  treaty. 

In  the  spring  of  1868,  Red  Cloud,  Spotted  Tail, 
Old  Man  Afraid  of  his  Horse,  Swift  Bear,  American 
Horse,  Red  Dog,  and  a  number  of  other  Sioux  Chiefs, 
visited  Washington  on  invitation  of  President  Johnson. 
They  also  visited  Philadelphia,  New  York,  and  Boston, 
by  invitation  of  the  authorities  of  those  cities.  Red 
Cloud  then  dressed  as  an  Indian  Chieftain  of  the  first 
rank,  and  presented  a  very  imposing  though  savage  ap 
pearance.  Now  and  for  several  years  past  he  dresses 
like  any  other  civilized  man,  and  his  bearing  and  man 
ners  are  those  of  a  gentleman.  Hon.  Alonzo  Bell,  late 


LIFE    OF    RED    CLOUD.  14! 

Assistant  Secretary  of  the  Interior  Department,  says 
of  him,  "I  have  met  Red  Cloud  in  council  often,  and 
I  regard  him  the  intellectual  peer  of  any  man  in  the 
United  States  Senate,  and  as  a  diplomat  and  statesman 
he  has  few  equals.  I  desire  to  add  that  I  regard  him 
as  a  man  of  the  strictest  integrity  and  highest  sense  of 
honor.  I  am  proud  to  be  able  to  count  him  among 
my  personal  friends."  Secretary  Lamar  says  of  a 
brief  impromptu  speech  of  Red  Cloud,  addressed  to 
him,  "It  was  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  eloquence 
to  which  I  ever  listened."  President  Cleveland  speaks 
of  his  speeches  in  complimentary  terms.  Hon.  G.  W. 
Manypenny,  formerly  Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs, 
and  Chairman  of  the  Sioux  Commission  of  1876,  has  a 
high  regard  for  Red  Cloud.  He  believes  him  to  be  a 
man  who  has  the  welfare  of  his  people  at  heart,  and  is 
anxious  that  they  should  advance  in  the  road  to  civili 
zation.  He  says,  "  Red  Cloud  is  a  man  of  honor  and 
integrity,  as  well  as  of  superior  intellectual  and  rare 
executive  ability." 

Fordyce  Grinnell,  M.  D. ,  of  Newport,  R.  I.,  who 
was  for  some  years  U.  S.  Surgeon  at  Pine  Ridge 
Agency,  says  of  Chief  Red  Cloud,  "I  have  heard  from 
the  pulpit  eulogies  upon  men  who,  sustained  by  Chris 
tian  faith,  have  borne  wrongs  with  meekness,  but  I  defy 
the  recent  annals  of  the  Church  to  furnish  a  case  sur 
passing  that  of  Red  Cloud,  enduring,  as  he  has,  with 
stoical  fortitude  for  years,  wrongs  and  insults  that  cry 
to  heaven  for  vengeance.  I  refer  to  the  persecutions 
and  insults  heaped  upon  the  Chief  by  the  United  States 
Agent." 

That  Red  Cloud  has  a  keen  sense  of  humor  is 
proven  by  the  fact  that  when  the  organ  of  Acquisitive- 


142  LIFE   OF    RED    CLOUD. 

ness  was  explained  to  him,  his  eye  twinkled  with  fun 
as  he  said,  "I  think  that  is  the  biggest  organ  in  the 
white  man's  head." 

It  is  perhaps  proper  to  state  that  the  examination 
was  made  during  the  Chief's  visit  to  Washington,  last 
year,  and  notes  taken  at  the  time  with  a  view  to  future 
publication,  by  Dr.  T.  A.  Bland. 

Red  Cloud  has  visited  Washington  as  the  represent 
ative  of  his  people  eight  different  times  in  eighteen 
years.  Some  of  these  visits  have  been  brief,  while  on 
other  occasions  he  has  spent  months  at  the  Capital,  in 
conference  with  the  President,  Secretary  of  Interior, 
Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs,  and  the  committees  of 
Congress.  For  some  years  the  United  States  Agent 
sent  to  his  people  has  not  had  the  confidence  of  Red 
Cloud  or  his  people.  The  Chief  has  asked  the  former 
administration  to  remove  him,  and  send  them  a  better 
man.  To  quote  his  words,  "They  would  not  hear" 
him.  Soon  after  the  inauguration  of  President  Cleve 
land,  the  chief  proceeded  to  Washington,  accompanied 
by  his  interpreter.  He  spent  two  months  in  the  city, 
as  the  guest  of  Dr.  T.  A.  Bland,  editor  of  the  Council 
Fire,  the  well-known  organ  of  the  Quaker  Indian  Pol 
icy.  He  was  treated  with  distinguished  consideration 
by  the  President  and  other  officials,  and  by  the  best 
society  people  of  the  Capital  city.  Numerous  recep 
tions  were  tendered  him,  and  on  all  occasions  he  bore 
himself  with  the  modesty  of  an  American  gentleman 
and  the  dignity  of  a  prince  of  royal  blood. 

Chief  Red  Cloud  is  a  wise  Indian.  He  has  the 
pride  of  race  common  to  his  people.  He  holds  in 
great  respect  the  traditional  history  of  the  Dakotas,  and 
the  political,  social  and  religious  customs  of  his  race ; 


LIFE    OF    RED    CLOUD.  143 

yet  he  recognizes  and  accepts  the  fact  that,  to  quote 
his  words,  "The  days  of  the  Indian  are  gone.  His 
hunting-grounds  are  blotted  out,  his  path  is  fenced  in 
by  the  white  man.  There  is  no  longer  any  room  in  this 
country  for  the  Indian.  He  must  become  a  white  man 
or  die.  My  ancestors  once  owned  this  whole  country. 
They  were  then  a  proud  people.  Now  this  country 
belongs  to  people  who  came  from  beyond  the  sea. 
They  are  so  numerous  that  we  could  not  take  our 
country  from  them  if  we  should  try.  They  have 
blotted  out  the  Indian  trail,  and  in  its  place  they  have 
made  a  new  road.  We  must  travel  with  them  in  this 
new  road.  I  have  been  walking  in  the  white  man's 
road  for  many  years.  I  ask  my  people  to  follow  me. 
We  were  all  created  by  the  same  Great  Spirit,  and  we 
draw  our  subsistence  from  our  common  mother, 
nature ;  we  are  alike  in  all  respects  except  the  color 
of  our  skin.  We  have  always  traveled  different  roads  ; 
from  now  on  we  must  travel  even.  We  must  build  our 
two  houses  into  one,  and  hereafter  live  together  like 
brothers.  "— J9r.  T.  A.  Bland,  N.  I.  D.  A. 


OPINION     OF    THE    AMERICAN    PHRENOLOGICAL    INSTITUTE, 
CONCERNING    RED    CLOUD'S    MENTAL    ORGANISM. 

The  head  is  large,  measuring  twenty-three  and  a 
half  inches  around  and  fifteen  from  ear  to  ear  over  the 
top.  The  organs  of  the  social  group  in  the  brain  are 
marked  in  the  chart  as  follows  :  Amativeness  large, 
Philoprogenitiveness  large,  Adhesiveness  very  large, 
Inhabitiveness  very  large.  He  is  therefore  strong  in 
his  attachments  to  home,  friends,  wife  and  children. 
In  the  executive  region  we  find  Combativeness  less 


144  LIFE  or  RED  CLOUD. 

developed  *,than  Destructiveness  or  Secretiveness  ; 
hence  he  is  naturally  pacific,  yet  possessing  the  quali 
ties  of  the  successful  warrior.  He  would  never  go  on 
the  war-path  through  personal  ambition  or  revenge, 
but  as  a  patriotic  duty  he  would  fight  to  the  death. 
Self-esteem  is  large,  and  Approbativeness  but  mode 
rate,  giving  dignity  and  independence  of  character, 
self-respect  and  self-confidence.  Firmness  is  large,  as 
shown  by  the  height  of  the  head  ;  hence  the  character 
is  stable,  and  with  large  Conscientiousness  and  a  fair 
degree  of  Hope,  we  have  a  man  of  high  purpose, 
fixed  convictions,  unyielding  devotion  to  what  he  be 
lieves  to  be  right  and  duty.  The  perceptive  organs,  as 
in  the  aboriginal  head  generally,  are  all  large,  forming 
a  beetling  cliff  above  the  eyes.  Few  things  worth  see 
ing  escape  the  observation  of  this  man,  and  his  judg 
ment  of  things  is  quick  and  broad.  His  Language  is 
evidently  active — see  the  eye  expression — and  as  an 
orator  he  is  logical,  forcible,  somewhat  poetic,  but  not 
wordy  or  especially  rhetorical.  He  is  eloquent,  but 
his  eloquence  does  not  depend  on  rhetorical  arts  ;  it  is 
of  the  multum  in  parvo  sort,  simple  yet  strong,  the 
kind  of  oratory  which  comes  direct  from  a  full  heart, 
through  an  active  and  strong  brain,  and  goes  direct  as 
a  plumed  arrow  to  the  brains  and  hearts  of  auditors. 


DR.    BYRON   SUNDERLAND   ON   THE  SIOUX 
SEVERALTY  BILL. 

"  We  believe  it  is  a  measure  fundamentally  wrong 
in  its  principle  and  in  the  method  which  it  proposes, 
and  we  protest  against  it,  for  many  reasons. 

"i.  Because  it  is  a  usurpation.  The  bill  itself  con 
cedes  that  the  lands  which  it  proposes  to  survey,  divide, 
and  allot  belong  to  the  tribes  that  occupy  them,  and 
Congress  has  no  right  but  the  right  of  the  strongest  to 
pass  a  law  authorizing  the  Government  to  go  on  to 
these  lands  and  do  the  sovereign  acts  which  this  bill 
proposes.  This  kind  of  legislation  is  the  abomination 
which  has  all  along  disgraced  our  history,  and  which  we 
wish  to  see  abandoned  now  and  forever.  This  one  con 
sideration  should  be  enough  to  blast  the  bill  in  the 
mind  of  every  man  who  regards  vested  rights,  the 
sanctity  of  solemn  treaty  pledges,  and  the  dictates  of 
natural  justice. 

"2.  Because  if  it  were  morally  sound  in  principle 
and  in  harmony  with  our  Constitution  and  existing 
rights,  as  interpreted  by  the  highest  courts  of  the  land, 
it  \&  premature.  The  Indians  to  be  affected  by  this  bill 
are  in  no  condition  to  assume  the  responsibilities  of  citi 
zenship.  All  the  trials  thus  far  of  the  land-in-severalty 
principle  with  the  Indians  in  their  savage  or  semi-bar 
barous  state  have  been  miserable  and  acknowledged 
failures ;  they  have  become  wretched  paupers  and  beg 
gars — dependent  solely  pn  the  uncertain  charity  of  the 


145 


146  SUNDERLAND'S  STRICTURES. 

Government — and  should  this  bill  become  a  law  the 
same  wretched  consequences,  even  on  a  larger  scale, 
would  follow  its  attempted  execution. 

"3.  Because  it  is  a  proposed  abandonment  of  the 
reservation  system,  and  with  this  all  treaty  obligations, 
all  recognition  of  tribal  relations,  and  all  the  solemn 
promises  made  to  the  Indians  in  our  dealings  with  them 
heretofore.  The  last  section  of  the  bill,  which  is  not 
the  amendment  proposed  by  the  Indian  Defense  Asso 
ciation,  simply  provides  that  no  reservation  shall  be  abol 
ished  without  the  consent  of  a  majority  of  the  male 
members  over  twenty-one  years  of  age — this  does  not 
affect  at  all  the  acts  of  the  Government  provided  for  in 
the  previous  sections  of  this  bill.  It  is  put  in  here  to 
make  the  bill  seem  just  and  fair  to  the  Indians,  but  in 
reality  it  is  a  mere  blind,  and  utterly  without  effect  on 
the  other  provisions  of  the  bill. 

*'  4.  Because  it  is  discriminative  in  the  worse  sense  of 
the  term.  Why  are  the  five  nations  and  other  tribes 
and  bands  mentioned  in  Sec.  8  excepted  from  the  appli 
cation  of  these  provisions?  They  are,  beyond  all  ques 
tion,  the  best  prepared  for  taking  their  lands  in  sever- 
alty  and  for  the  ordeal  of  citizenship.  Why  should  the 
bill  be  made  to  apply  alone  to  all  those  Indians  who  are 
least  prepared  for  a  change  so  sudden  and  radical  ?  It 
looks  very  much  as  if  the  friends  of  the  bill  were  say 
ing  to  themselves  and  the  world,  we  are  tired  of  our 
bargain  to  take  care  of  savages,  to  educate  and  main 
tain  them  according  to  our  promises,  and  we  propose 
now  to  throw  it  up  and  force  these  savages  on  to  farms 
and  into  citizenship,  and  say  to  them  '  root  hog  or 
die.' 

"5.   Because  it  is  deceptive — the  one  instance  of  the 


SUNDERLAND'S  STRICTURES.  147 

trust  feature  for  twenty-five  years,  or  for  an  indefinite 
period  in  the  discretion  of  the  executive,  is  sufficient 
proof  of  its  illusory  character.  To  say  nothing  of  the 
assumption  of  Congress  in  authorizing  the  Government 
to  create  a  trust  upon  property  which  does  not  belong 
to  it — the  trust  period  itself  as  regulated  in  this  bill  is 
a  hocus  pocus.  In  saying  this  I  do  not  desire  to  ques 
tion  the  motives  of  its  authors,  but  none  the  less  is  it  a 
deception,  and  will  prove  itself  such  if  the  bill  becomes  a 
law.  Its  avowed  object  is  to  protect  the  Indians  and 
prevent  their  lands  from  being  alienated  for  a  term  of 
years  or  an  indefinite  period.  But  in  attempting  to  do 
this  it  assumes  an  arbitrary  and  despotic  trust  of  prop 
erty  which  does  not  belong  to  it.  It  disregards  all 
tribal  obligations,  forces  allotments  on  individual  Indians 
without  their  consent,  disintegrates  the  reservations,  and 
deprives  the  Indians  of  all  proprietary  rights  in  their 
own  lands  and  makes  them  mere  life-tenants,  with  no 
other  control  over  their  property  for  an  indefinite  period 
in  the  discretion  of  the  executive.  A  more  skillful 
robbery  I  think  was  never  planned. 

"6.  Because  it  creates  a  large  number  of  agents  to 
be  appointed  to  carry  out  its  provisions,  thus  multiply 
ing  the  chances  for  fraud  in  fehe  selection  of  lands,  for 
various  swindling  jobs  and  peculations,  for  creating 
dissensions  among  the  Indians  themselves  and  arousing 
and  augmenting  their  suspicions  as  to  the  designs  of 
the  Government,  as  well  as  to  the  schemes  of  the  land- 
sharks,  who  are  forever  hovering  about  them.  Judging 
the  future  by  the  past,  some  of  these  agents,  at  least, 
will  foment  jealousies — assume  unwarranted  authority — 
and  create  confusion  in  all  the  reservations.  Are  there 
not  agents  enough  already?  Why  multiply  the  prob 


148  SUNDERLAND'S  STRICTURES. 

abilities  of  friction  and  complication  in  a  problem 
already  loaded  with  more  difficulties  than  the  Govern 
ment  seems  able  to  handle ! 

"7.  Because  the  scheme  in  the  premises  appears 
to  be  peacefully  impracticable.  It  is  true,  the  Supreme 
Court  has  said  that  an  action  of  ejection  would  hold  in 
the  courts  upon  an  Indian  title  ;  but  the  Indian  is  ex 
cluded  from  the  courts,  or  would  be  practically  so,  if 
he  refused  to  comply  with  the  provisions  of  this  bill. 
He  could  do  nothing  by  legal  process  to  prevent  this 
high  act  of  trespass.  This  bill  leaves  it  with  the  exec 
utive  to  say  when  upon  any  reservation  the  surveys 
shall  be  made  and  allotments  enforced.  But  the  very 
first  surveyor  who  shall  go  upon  these  lands  will  be 
looked  upon  by  the  Indians  as  a  trespasser,  and  will  be 
likely  to  be  treated  accordingly.  This  will  bring  on 
collision  with  the  Government,  and  end  in  an  Indian 
war  ;  and  so  the  United  States  may  extinguish  the  In 
dian  title  and  many  of  the  Indians  themselves,  as  it 
has  often  done  before,  by  the  sword.  Can  anything  be 
more  despotic  than  thus  to  provoke  hostilities,  and 
then  crush  the  weaker  party  with  an  iron  heel  ? 

"  8.  Because  the  bill  is  chiefly  in  the  interest  of  white 
men — the  Indians  being  objects  of  secondary  import 
ance.  This,  no  doubt,  is  why  so  large  a  proportion  of 
the  public  press,  which  is  the  mere  tool  of  syndicates, 
charter  companies,  and  stock-jobbing  schemes  of  all 
sorts,  are  so  loudly  shouting  for  the  passage  of  this 
bill.  They  see  it  exactly  opens  the  door  to  them  for  a 
very  large  field  of  operation,  and  so  it  suits  their  pur 
pose  to  urge  on  the  corps  of  professed  friends  of  the 
Indians  to  spare  no  efforts  to  secure  this  legislation. 
We  object  to  it  on  general  principles.  Every  session 


SUNDERLAND  S    STRICTURES.  149 

of  Congress  is  flooded  with  schemes  of  all  kinds  in  re 
lation  to  the  Indians,  so  that  they  have  learned  to  dread 
the  assembling  of  the  National  Legislature — not  know 
ing  what  new  proposal  will  be  set  on  foot  to  agitate  and 
disturb  them.  The  bill  is  but  another  of  the  many 
schemes  which  will  tend  to  render  them  restless  and 
uncertain.  It  is  a  measure  proposed  in  addition  to 
that  species  of  legislation  which  has  for  a  long  time 
impeded  the  progress  of  the  Indians.  It  is  in  the  face 
of  all  past  experience.  It  will  not  tend  to  secure  the 
confidence  of  the  Indians  in  the  Government's  design 
towards  them  ;  and  there  is  no  intelligent  person  at  this 
time  who  does  not  know  that  these  Indians  are  not 
prepared  for  the  ordeal  to  which  this  bill  will  subject 
them. 

"  9.  And  again  because,  so  far  as  we  know,  no  In 
dian  tribes  or  bands  have  signified  to  Congress  their 
desire  for  the  passage  of  such  a  bill  as  this.  It  appears 
to  be  a  spontaneous  movement  on  the  part  of  the 
Christian  philanthropists — and  who  are  standing  at 
their  elbows,  it  would  not  be  hard  to  guess.  Does  any 
man  believe  that  this  great  clamor  would  have  crystal 
lized  into  such  a  severalty  bill  as  this,  if  the  white  man 
had  not  arrived  at  a  point  in  his  movements  where  he 
wants  these  lands,  and  is  determined,  sooner  or  later, 
to  have  them,  whether  the  Indians  consent  or  not !  It 
is  this  hell-fire  greed  in  the  white  man  ;  this  monstrous 
covetousness  ;  this  Behemoth  of  rapacity  which  can  not 
be  satisfied  till  it  has  grasped  the  possessions  of  the 
Indians  and  driven  them  to  the  wall,  that  we  deplore  ; 
and  we  say,  let  it  stop  here  and  now.  Banish  these 
schemes  from  Congress.  Let  us  fulfill  the  obligations 
we  have  already  incurred.  Let  us  convince  the  Indians 


150  SUNDERLAND'S  STRICTURES. 

that  we  are  true  to  our  word.  Let  us  have  no  more 
legislation  for  the  next  ten  years  but  such  as  shall  tend 
to  carry  out  already  existing  treaties  and  such  appro 
priations  of  money  as  may  be  necessary  to  keep  good 
faith.  What  these  Indians  need  most  of  all  to-day,  is 
immunity  from  harassment.  Give  them  peace  and 
rest.  Give  them  time  for  education.  Pay  them  their 
just  dues.  Treat  them  honestly  in  all  respects,  and 
wait  patiently  till  they  are  prepared  of  their  own  accord 
to  ask  for  citizenship  and  severalty.  When  they  have, 
by  such  a  course,  been  brought  to  see  the  light,  a  way 
may  be  devised  by  which  they  can  gradually  of  their 
own  free  will,  be  absorbed  into  the  great  mass  of  citi 
zens,  and  become  an  element  of  stability  in  the  institu 
tions  of  the  country. 

"  Much  more  might  be  said  upon  this  Indian  prob 
lem,  but  I  forbear.  Notwithstanding  our  opposition, 
this  bill  may  become  a  law.  If  it  should  prove  a  curse 
rather  than  a  blessing,  the  responsibility  will  not  rest 
upon  us.  We  have  done  what  we  could  to  prevent  it, 
and  we  shall  be  disturbed  by  no  unavailing  regret  that 
we  have  aided  in  establishing  a  policy  which  is  likely 
to  defeat  the  very  aims  its  friends  so  loudly  proclaim." 


COL.  G.  W.  HARKINS,  OF  THE  CHICKASAWS, 
ON  THE  DAWES  BILL. 

"  Why  are  such  radical  changes  in  our  statutes 
sought  to  be  made,  as  are  contemplated  in  the 
Dawes  Severalty  Bill  ?  Why  such  haste  to  force 
the  Indians  to  take  their  lands  as  individuals  ?  There 
can  be  but  one  answer.  It  is  because  the  white 
man  covets  the  Indians'  lands,  railroad  companies 
and  mobs  of  boomers  are  clamoring  to  be  allowed 
to  dispossess  the  Indians  of  the  last  remnant  of 
their  inheritance.  Why  are  those  tribes  who  are 
more  nearly  on  the  plane  of  the  white  man  excepted 
from  the  operation  of  the  severalty  bill,  and  the  unciv 
ilized  and  untutored  subjected  to  its  provisions  ?  Is  it 
not  because  the  civilized  tribes  claim  their  rights  and 
would  resist  invasion  by  every  legal  and  peaceable 
means,  while  the  other  tribes  can  make  no  resistance, 
now  that  they  are  convinced  that  they  can  no  longer 
right  their  wrongs  by  war  ?  Their  sole  hope  now  lies 
in  this  Indian  Defense  Association.  It  is  said  that  the 
Indians  still  have  too  much  land.  Is  it  a  crime  for  an 
Indian  tribe  to  hold  more  land  than  its  people  can  use 
at  once,  but  all  of  which  will  be  needed  for  its  increas 
ing  population  ?  Then  why  not  declare  it  a  crime  for 
corporations  to  own  and  hold  for  speculation  large  bod 
ies  of  land,  and  why  allow  foreigners  to  buy  up  and 
hold  vast  estates  in  this  country  ?  Indeed,  why  not 
say  that  it  is  an  outrage  on  those  who  have  no  homes 


152  COL.   HARKINS   ON    DAWES    BILL. 

for  a  rich  farmer  to  own  more  land  than  he  can  culti 
vate  or  to  hold  land  for  his  children  and  grandchildren  ? 
There  is  no  scarcity  of  public  land  open  to  the  people 
at  nominal  prices  ;  then  why  this  clamor  for  the  Indians' 
lands?  But  while  it  is  proposed  to  divide  a  small  part 
of  the  Indians'  lands  among  them  and  make  them  citi 
zens,  it  is  not  in  the  plan  to  give  them  fee-simple  titles. 
On  the  contrary,  the  scheme  is  to  take  the  title  from 
the  tribe  and  vest  it  in  the  Government,  and  simply  give 
the  poor  Indian  a  promise  that  after  a  long  time, 
twenty-five  years,  or  as  much  longer  as  his  good,  hon 
est  guardian,  who  has  always  broken  every  promise  it 
ever  made  him,  shall  deem  best,  he  shall  have  a  title 
to  his  little  farm.  May  we  be  delivered  from  such 
promises. 

"It  is  claimed  that  this  bill  is  indorsed  by  many 
friends  of  the  Indians,  and  that  those  friends  of  our 
race  believe  that  it  is  the  only  plan  for  saving  any  of 
our  lands  to  us.  We  would  ask  such  friends  to  study 
the  history  of  the  tribes  of  Indian  Territory.  Under 
tribal  title  they  have  become  civilized  and  self-support 
ing.'  They  have  elected  governments,  established 
schools,  built  churches,  and  developed  the  industries 
common  to  civilization.  We  have  done  all  this  in  the 
face  of  many  obstacles.  The  war  between  the  States 
swept  over  our  country  like  a  cyclone,  and  left  its  insti 
tutions  in  ruins.  We  have  recovered  from  that  disaster. 
Would  it  not  be  sound  policy  to  give  other  tribes  a 
chance  to  do  as  we  have  done  ?  These  tribes  have 
patents  to  the  whole  of  the  land,  and  every  member  of 
the  tribe  is  secure  in  the  possession  of  a  home.  The 
severalty  plan  has  been  tried  on  a  number  of  tribes,  and 
always  failed.  But  these  historic  facts  have  no  weight 


COL.    HARKINS    ON    DA  WES    BILL.  153 

with  those  who,  under  pretense  of  friendship  for  the 
Indian,  concoct  measures  in  the  interest  of  the  white 
man.  My  friends,  this  Government  of  ours  represents 
the  white  man  as  against  the  Indian.  In  1830,  when 
the  U.  S.  Commissioners  were  negotiating  with  the 
Choctaws  for  their  lands  on  the  Mississippi,  the  mis- 
sionaries  who  had  lived  among  those  people  and  Were 
their  friends,  were  not  allowed  to  enter  the  council,  lest 
they  might  thwart  the  schemes  of  the  Government. 

In  conclusion,  I  desire  to  say  that  if  the  various 
tribes  could  be  assured  of  security  in  possession  of  their 
reservations,  and  could  have  good  schools  for  their 
children,  and  be  taught  and  encouraged  in  the  simple 
arts  of  civil  life,  they  would  all  become  civilized,  self- 
supporting  people,  and  in  due  time  citizens  of  the 
United  States,  and  owners  of  their  homes  in  severalty. 
But  those  who  are  personally  interested  in  schools  off 
the  reservation  are  opposed  to  the  plan  of  educating 
Indian  children  at  home.  So  at  every  point  we  cross 
some  selfish  interest. 


TH.S    BOOK       N    THE 

W.L.U  .NCREASE  TO  SO          N=  - 

DAY     AND     TO     ,™0     ON  T  THE  «  ™E  F°U"TH 

OVERDUE.        .-       __  '     THE  SEVENTH    DAY 


PEN*--TY 


FEB   10  19 


W3  11966  3 


21-ioOm-8,'34 


904323 


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